


Chiffon Black

by AvaCelt



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: 2020 Hunter X Hunter Big Bang, Ballet and Gothic Fusion Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Continent Lore, Dark Fantasy, F/M, Horror, Hunter X Hunter Big Bang, HxH Lore, HxHBB20, Implied Sexual Content, Kurta Clan's Scarlet Eyes (Hunter X Hunter), M/M, Mystery, Post-Canon, Post-Dark Continent Arc, The Kurta Clan Massacre (Hunter X Hunter), hxhbb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaCelt/pseuds/AvaCelt
Summary: Four years after the sinking of the Black Whale, assorted personalities who survived the great tragedy attempt to make something of their lives. Hisoka finds himself enamored with the newest mystery in town, while a thousand miles away, Senritsu accepts the case of a missing dancer. Deep in the forests of Lukso Province is Kurapika, the former head of the Nostrade crime family. With the Kakin Empire in shambles, it's inevitable that the three personalities meet. Together, they realize that there's a lot more at stake than just a few ballet numbers and free tickets to the theater. Their world may have moved on from a sunken ship and hybrid ant people, but something else hasn't. It's a feeling that tells them that even though their world has forgotten, the Dark Continent has not – and that the monster that destroyed the ship may just be hunting down its survivors.
Relationships: Ging Freecs/Pariston Hill, Hisoka/Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), Hisoka/Senritsu | Melody (Hunter X Hunter), Hisoka/Senritsu/Kurapika, Senritsu | Melody/Kurapika
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22
Collections: Hxhbb





	1. White Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fourth year participating in the Hunter x Hunter Big Bang! I've always wanted to write a mystery for the fandom, and finally got around to it. I watched some clips of ballet performances and realized how much I wanted to write a story incorporating elements of dance. After watching some horror movies about dance and ballet, I realized it was the perfect fit for this year's Big Bang. Enjoy, folks!

Senritsu followed the old couple down a narrow hallway before being seated in a small living room. The dying afternoon sunlight poured through grimy, square windows, bathing the room in waning shadows. Soon, the tall lamp in the corner of the room would need to be turned on, but Senritsu gathered she'd be long gone before then.

She folded her hands in her lap and gave the old couple a pleasant smile. “Please start from the beginning.”

The old man gave her a long and heavy look before his wife grabbed his shaking hand. Once she'd squeezed it, the words rushed out of him as if a floodgate was opened. “Seema is our only daughter. We had her late in life, after we thought we couldn't have any children. The doctors told us there could be complications with her birth, and that she might not survive the delivery, but she did.” Tears prickled in the old man's eyes, and he didn't bother wiping them away. “She was born healthy as a fawn. We were much older than most parents, so we had to learn new things quickly so that she wouldn't fall behind. We took her to the village school, and when she wanted to study further, we gave her our life savings to choose whatever university she fancied.”

The tears were falling freely now, from both the old man and the old woman. Melody continued to smile pleasantly. After the old couple has wiped their noses and dabbed at their eyes, Melody asked, “what university did she choose?”

The old woman's watery eyes lit up. “She chose a dance academy. She wanted to be a ballerina, you see. When she was little, she'd spend hours in front of the television watching men and women dance in styles from all over the world. As she grew older, she'd take to mimicking them in her room, then the backyard, then the sandy patch in the fields. By the time she reached adulthood, she'd decided she would be a ballerina, and we were more than happy to support her dreams. We gave her what we had, and sent her on her way.”

“Did she accomplish her dreams?” Senritsu asked, already knowing the answer.

The living room was a small, drab affair. There were three windows facing a field blooming with wildflowers. There was a small television, a lamp, the faded, wooden chair Senritsu was sitting on, and a worn divan with fabric peeling off and stuffing exposed in various places. Beneath Senritsu's feet was an equally worn rug. A low table with one leg propped on a small rock separated Senritsu from the old couple sitting on the divan. The house, the room, and its occupants, save Senritsu, were ancient, having lived into their seventies on things they'd bought and bartered in their twenties. Calloused hands and uneven gaits spoke of decades of intense, physical labor. Wrinkled, sun-kissed skin spoke of a lifetime spent outside. Everything from their home to their souls was old and weathered by time.

But not beaten.

The only items that gleamed in the room were pictures of a girl. A baby swaddled in a green blanket, a toddler on her first steps, a young girl in a tutu in a field of wildflowers, a young woman in front of a large dance academy, a ballerina on a stage flanked by other dancers – Seema of the small village in Ochima, daughter of flower harvesters, a ballerina in a small company on the other side of the world.

Seema, the woman who disappeared.

“She hasn't written in six months,” the old man said hoarsely. “Since she went to the dance academy in the capital city eight years ago, she's written every month without delay. Even when the cancer was discovered, she wrote from the hospital even though we wouldn't come to find out until months after the treatment had begun.”

“She was getting better,” the old woman sobbed. “The doctors were able to remove the tumors from her stomach and get her back on her feet in time for her to perform on her 25th birthday. That was last year. Some time after that, her letters stopped coming, and no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't reach her or the ballet company she was performing with.”

“We called, sent letters, even agreed to come get her,” the old man ground out, “but she never answered. The people she worked with never answered either. Its been six months since her last letter.” The old man picked up a blue envelope off the low table and handed it to Senritsu. “This was the last one she sent us. We took it to the village constable and he told us to go to the capital. We went to the inspectors in the capital, and they told us that since she disappeared in another country, we would have to fly there and speak to _their_ inspectors. We don't have the money to do any of that. That's why we called for you.”

“And what would you like for me to do?” She asked the old couple, whose expressions had hardened with the dying light.

“Find our daughter for us, Miss Hunter,” the old woman gritted through her teeth, “or the bastards who took her from us.”

“Even if it's just to bury her,” the old man said hollowly. “As long as we know for sure, we can follow her.”

And who was Senritsu to deny a request? “I would be honored to accept your case. However, if you don't mind me asking – why did you call for me? I'm sure there are other hunters more equipped to handle a missing persons case.”

The old couple looked at one another before turning their gaze back to Senritsu. “You're a music hunter,” the old woman pointed out. “You can hunt their songs.”

Senritsu cocked her head lightly to the side. “Whose song?”

“The ballet company,” the old man clarified. “We're sure they had something to do with this. They're small but their music and performances were like aphrodisiacs to Seema. She could have continued performing in our capital city, but she chose to go that obscure one on the other side of the world two years ago. We thought that perhaps your knowledge could help discover how they... seduced her, to begin with, and why she's disappeared... you _can_ help us, can't you?” The old man's face took on a ghastly expression in the fading rays of light.

Senritsu met his expression with a kind smile. “Of course I can. I was simply curious.”

The old couple nodded. “Thank you, Hunter.”

The old couple led Senritsu to the door, and she bid them farewell from there. She took a long, winding road down to the village square, got into her rented car, and let the driver take her back to the capital.

As they drove through the darkening skies of early spring in the Ochiman countryside, Senritsu fingered the envelope in her hand. The paper reeked with the stench of death, but the smell was so subtle that she doubted anyone but her caught it. She hadn't opened up the envelope to read the letter yet, but she would eventually, when it was time.

For now, she focused on the wind whistling through the air and the stars peeking out from behind the clouds. She closed her eyes and let the shadows overtake her senses. A light melody drifted into her ears, and promised her a thousand years of pain if she went through with this. A smile curved around her lips. She clutched the envelope tighter in her hands, wrinkling the paper. The melody turned into a screech before disappearing, leaving her chuckling as her driver gave her a concerned glance.

Senritsu breathed in deeply and let the unease drift away from her shoulders. She opened her eyes and smiled straight ahead.

Her hunt had just begun.

* * *

The station platform was at capacity, filled with passengers, vendors, policemen, and farewell-givers alike. It was the only train station in the vicinity, a hundred miles from the nearest metropolis that was a good three hours away via rail, or a week's walk on foot. Seven of the surrounding towns used the station to ferry across the vast expanse of land, cutting through wheat fields and rock quarries to get to the city settled between two, small mountains. The train arrived twice a day, once in the early rays of dawn, and once in the evening after dusk.

Hisoka stepped off the bustling train an hour after the sun had set over the horizon, bathing the open station and its people in the sickly orange light of scattered lampposts. It cast an eerie glow on Hisoka's powdered face.

He discreetly checked the joints and knobs of his prosthetic hands while mimicking a stretch. He let long fingers ghost over the Bungee Gum and Texture Surprise pretending to be his nose and part of his neck and face. He counted the blemishes in his head, made a note of which parts to further shape in the mirror to make sure his not a single hair was out of place. Once he felt comfortable enough, he yawned, picked up his suitcase, and began making his trek across the platform to the station stairs.

No one seemed to notice nor care about the tall man with pale white skin and bright red hair. He supposed they wouldn't. It was the unnamed country, after all – land of fleeing refugees. To the people of the little train station, a man with sickly pale skin and bright red hair wearing a court jester's uniform was as common as a woman with no hair and only two fingers wearing a potato sack over her head. In a land brimming with lush valleys and rock quarries, the unnamed country bordering the Mimbo Republic and the Republic of Padokea was a quiet as it was resilient. The countryside, where Hisoka had landed, was populated by people who'd fled the Kakin Empire and Kukan'yu Kingdom. They spoke a hundred languages and came in a hundred different shades and colors. The land also housed Chimera Ants who'd escaped the Poor Man's Rose and the Hunter Association. Hisoka had already found several businesses in the region associated with the hybrid creatures, all of them quietly accepted into the folds of the refugee community.

And yet, not one of them was connected to the problem he'd encountered one sunny morning in Yorknew.

“Apples, Mister?” Hisoka looked down at a little girl offering him a bright red apple. “Only two jenny, Mister,” she said brightly. Hisoka grinned. He bumped his knuckles against the girl's forehead before dropping some coins into her free hand. Then he took the apple and made his way through the rest of the crowd and into the dusty, dark streets below.

“My, oh my,” he sighed listlessly before biting into the bright red fruit. He chewed its flesh slowly, savoring the sweetness. “And here I was, thinking ballet was only for the rich.” He took another bite and let the juices dribble down his fake chin and into the collar of his sleeveless shirt. “How does one convince dancers to join them in the most obscure nation in the world? A nation with no name, for people who hate their own histories?” He bit into the apple three more times before only the core remained. He tossed it into a ditch as he began his journey towards a small village bordering a rock quarry.

“How does one convince two primos to travel all the way from the comforts and luxuries of the United States of Saherta... to a land filled with penniless refugees and little to no exposure?” Hisoka said out loud to himself, not a single soul paying attention to his monologue. “How does a corps dancer unexpectedly vanish?” He walked over dried grass and candy wrappers as he turned right onto the route leading into the village fifteen miles down the road. “How does a nation with no name manage to thrive while other burn?”

Hisoka walked for almost two hours, speaking to nothing and no one, bathed in moonlight and the cold air of spring. No one followed him, nor did anyone care. Everyone else who needed to go into the village took cars down paved routes that cut through the forest, but Hisoka chose a longer path lined between the forest and the wheat fields.

He thought about the enormous Kakin Empire that broke down immediately after the sinking of the Black Whale four years ago. He thought about the war that ravaged Azia for two years while the empire's population either died, fled the continent, or joined hands with surrounding clans that were able to escape the former emperor's clutches. In the midst of all the strife, the unnamed country drifted quietly in the north, a land that bordered the sea south of the Dark Continent, a land with no name and people with unsavory stories.

“But why would a ballerino want to work here?” Hisoka lamented out loud. They were hard to come by. Their female counterparts, on the other hand, thrived in numbers. To be a primo in Saherta or Ochima or the Begerosse Union was to be a master of the art, and the most coveted dancer of them all.

Even when Kakin was crumbling, fleeing dancers only accepted offers from the most esteemed of ballet houses. Hisoka had done his research, and the unnamed country was no where on that list.

The rich were the first to flee, after all, escaping with their jewels and their gold, while the peasants were the last. When the first wave of Azian refugees arrived at the shores of the unnamed country, the war was almost finished decimating their population, and only those who managed to withstand purges, famine, and disease were able to make it onto boats that took them to the northwestern hemisphere.

They were accepted quietly into the towns, villages, and cities. It didn't seem to matter that some of the refugees carried disease in their skin, while others harbored fear and resentment. Unlike other lands, the unnamed country accepted the meek with no complaints and barely a whisper. It didn't make sense to Hisoka – when all of the other nations and kingdoms turned away from Azian refugees in their time of need, it was the unnamed country that quietly took them in. While Azian aristocracy had scattered across the world, the peasants who could no longer live within the confines of the broken empire climbed onto boats that sailed through treacherous seas to reach the unnamed country. The unnamed country boasted only a single city worth traversing through – Heavens Arena.

But Heavens Arena was a megalopolis nestled inland, flanked by smaller cities and towns, whereas Hisoka was in the countryside, over a month's travel away.

According to the dossiers he'd collected, dancers began to arrive to the unnamed country only after the wars in Azia died down two years prior. Primos from Saherta, primas from Padokea, Mimbo, and Begerosse, and dancers from all across Ochima and the continent south of it had started to trickle in groups of two or three, and sometimes individually. It was as if the end of the Azian war was a signal for the unnamed country to begin plucking artists from the comforts of their new homes. It was a population uncommon to the unnamed country that boasted a single tournament that attracted the most violent of creatures, Hisoka included. And yet, according to Hisoka's intel, ten of the greatest primos and primas of the world had ended up in the unnamed country over the past few years.

And no one cared. Most of the dancers had left their families long ago, and lived entirely off the benevolence and grace of the companies that they worked for. Once gone, they were replaced by another dancer, marked for shame if they tried dancing elsewhere ever again. Even the primos' decision to leave Saherta were erased from the archives. They became black dots in the long list of blacklisted dancers. Their art was shunned, and only those who'd once seen them perform remembered their names and faces, and since the primary consumers were the affluent, very few cared to ask after their disappearance.

The ones that _did_ care for the disappearing dancers were oftentimes too poor or too disillusioned to find them.

Hisoka was neither.

It wasn't as if he _actually_ cared what happened to the dancers, but the thought of a mystery after years of aimlessly drifting from nation to nation was like nectar to his starving soul. This – this was a real hunt. He'd find the company hidden in the unnamed country, a country that only marketed Heavens Arena to the rest of the world, and not a single other narrative. He would find the dancers, and he'd figure out why the dancers' left their comforts and luxuries to dance in a far-off country with no name and no history, bordering the darkest continent of them all, a continent who's neighboring sea swallowed a ship full of passengers.

“How long since I've performed in a theater?” He murmured to himself as he saw the facades of small houses come into his vision. He had to count the years in his head. He was thirty years old now. The last time he'd performed in a circus was when he was ten years old. He hadn't stepped on a theater stage since.

“I guess this is as good a time as any to fulfill my dreams,” Hisoka said airily. He strolled into the dark, cobbled streets of the small village bordered a rock quarry, and let the stone steps lead him to the entrance of a small inn. He knew the inn was run by a Chimera Ant with the head of a dog and the torso of a bear. He also knew that the Chimera Ant was a trusted member of the village, so Hisoka walked in, put down his suitcase, and sweetly asked for their best room. He was playing the part of an aspiring ballerino, after all, and only the best could befit a man of his ego.

The Ant handed him a pair of keys and gestured him to follow. Hisoka found himself on the third floor of the inn, overlooking the small river next to the quarry. Beyond the quarry lay a small forest with a mountain in the middle, and beyond that mountain lay the cold, blue sea.

Hisoka smiled toothily at the Chimera Ant, which earned him a look of distaste, before the Ant left him to his devices. Hisoka shut the door, closed the lights, and opened the only two windows in the room. He stripped in the darkness. Once his skin was bare, he switched off Bungee Gum and Texture Surprise, and slipped off the prosthetic leg, fingers, and assortment of masks. He let his fingerless hands and leathery skin feel the cold breeze envelop his senses. He breathed deeply and exhaled. His exposed teeth burned with the cold, and the hair on his only leg prickled as gooseflesh rose on his skin.

Hisoka took in the night sky and the darkness of the quiet village. His hunt had only begun.

* * *

Huddled next to a small fire in a vast and open clearing sat a young man and his many glass jars. In each of the glass jars, eyeballs with deep red sclera and irises were suspended in cloudy preservative solution. In the largest jar lay the head of a young boy with dark brown hair and a pair of Scarlet Eyes. The dead boy's name was Pairo, and he'd lived long ago, during a time when the young man huddled next to the fire had a purpose for existing. Now, there was nothing but the starry sky, the cold wind, and the lush greenery of the forestry surrounding the clearing.

At long last, Kurapika's hunt had come to an end.

* * *


	2. Red Calliope

Kurapika had shot Light Nostrade in the head point blank almost a year ago. Since then, he'd moved quietly between nations and kingdoms, slowly but surely making his way to Lukso Province.

Unknown to the majority of his friends and fellow Hunters, Lukso Province wasn't that far from many of the places they'd come across on their travels. If anything, it was too close – so close that Kurapika had to suppress the rage in his chest whenever he thought about the great forest that had once housed his tribe.

On the northwestern edge of Lake Mobius lay three countries that shared a single continent, two with names, and one with no name. On the northernmost border of the Republic of Padokea and the unnamed country lay a province belonging to the Padokeans. In that province lay a great forest, a cluster of mountains, and small rivers that ran out to the sea. Those mountains, that forest, those tiny rivers with no names – they bled into the unnamed country. Long ago, a feared tribe with Scarlet Eyes lived in that region shared by the two countries.

But that was long ago – now, the area was largely abandoned by humanity, with only a few isolated towns on both sides of the border that tended to the edges of the forest. Most avoided the great forest, not because it once housed the feared Kurta, but because it was at the northern tip of the continent, right on the edge of the sea that opened up towards the Dark Continent. It was a bad omen for the people. The great unknown was as feared as it was loathed.

In his childhood, Kurapika often wondered why humanity feared the Scarlet Eyes. His clan had been honest folk, keeping to themselves and living off the land that provided all that they'd ever needed. It didn't even matter that they were only some miles from the ocean that faced the Dark Continent. Kurapika never understood the hatred until he himself came to hate. His hatred was palpable, to a point where his nen transformed to allow him to channel as much hatred as possible into his techniques, techniques that went on to become so powerful that while he was crushing Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou's throat with his hands, his chains had sucked the man's life force out through his nose and poured it straight into Kurapika's chest.

Kurapika had been sleeping when the Black Whale began to sink. By the time he was dragged out of bed by Hanzo and Bisky, the outer hulls had already been pierced by the fangs of a gigantic sea creature.

Kurapika remembered that night four years ago with great clarity. While other survivors had been arrested with shock and horror, that night, before the sea creatures arose from the depths to attack the ship, that was the night Kurapika strangled Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou to death and retrieved the last pair of Scarlet Eyes – Pairo's eyes.

The prince had, had Pairo's head submerged in magicked spring water, so crystal clear and revitalizing that it looked like the head was still alive. Sometimes when Kurapika stared too long, he thought Pairo blinked back.

But he didn't. Three years after the sinking of the Black Whale, Kurapika had murdered Light Nostrade for having been the fence that sold Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou the Scarlet Eyes in the first place. It had taken him some time to piece the story together, but once he had, he'd entered Light's chambers at dawn one cold September, and shot him point blank between the eyes. Later that day, he'd feigned surprise, and a week later, he'd scattered into the wind.

The Nostrade family's associates' still suspected that he was a killer, but with Neon's murder at the hands of a rival crime boss, and Light's list of crimes published in the newspapers, no one had made any real effort to hunt Kurapika down.

He'd spent the better part of a year moving quietly between countries, taking detour after detour to throw off any hunter that might be following his scent. He'd carried the Scarlet Eyes in a conjured box he'd masked as a wagon full of old trinkets.

To the people of the Republic of Padokea, he'd been a traveling salesman who was crossing the border into the unnamed country through the great forest. In reality, he was the last son of the Kurta tribe, and after all these years, he was finally home.

And he wasn't alone. Kurapika sat beneath the skies with the jars full of eyes and Pairo's head, and asked out loud, “who is it?”

No one answered. The eyes were floating in clear liquid and largely silent, and not once did Pairo's lips move within his own jar, but still, Kurapika asked. He asked because since the moment he and his expedition squad, along with Queen Oito and Prince Woble, had escaped the doomed ship, he'd been marked. As he'd fit back into his role as Light Nostrade's bodyguard and the lead Hunter on Neon Nostrade's murder case, he'd felt eyes focused on the back of his head, creeping closer and closer, but never so close that Kurapika could see who they belonged to. The thing had shadowed him when he'd finally murdered Light, and when he'd left Yorknew. It had followed him across nations and kingdoms, through deserts and prairies, and across lush greenery and snowy mountains. It had trailed him even when he'd taken ten detours and extended a three-month journey to eight.

The Nostrade family's hunters would never find him, not even the best of the Hunters who'd become his friends, but the creature that orchestrated the deaths of hundreds of thousands of human beings – that creature found him.

And deep down, Kurapika knew that it had never let him go to begin with.

Kurapika stared up at the sky, letting the warmth of the orange flames lick the frost from his lips one last time before he settled down to sleep. For the first time in years, he put his guard down. His nen slept as soundlessly as he did, the jars of eyes and Pairo's head on one side, the crackling fire on the other.

He was home. If Death was on his heels, then there was no better place left for him to perish.

* * *

Senritsu met Hisoka steps from the village town hall. She recognized the hunter's unmistakable bright hair, and the much more subtle gleam of his prosthetic skin, as she was walking through the village square and down to the rock quarry a mile up the road.

She thought about passing by and leaving him to his business, but what were the odds that one of the most dangerous men in the Hunter world _just_ happened to be where she was at the same time?

Senritsu hummed before tapping the man's arm. “Hisoka-san?”

The older man turned around and frowned before looking down to her rotund figure below. The frown disappeared and curious smile played on his lips. “Music Hunter?”

“That's me,” she chuckled. “How are you?”

He sighed obnoxiously loud, breathing in the stale air of late spring. “Just peachy, Senritsu-san. And yourself?”

“Just working, as one does,” she beamed back. “Would you like to join me for coffee, or are you busy?”

The clown's smile widened, so sharp and pointy and so heavy with killing intent that Senritsu subconsciously touched her flute hidden beneath the folds of her clothes.

“I would _love_ that,” the clown whispered sultrily.

Senritsu continued to beam. “If so, we should hurry. It's just before the lunch rush, so we should be able to get a table outside.”

Senritsu turned around and began making her way in the opposite direction of the rock quarry. When he began to follow without a word, she smiled and resumed humming.

* * *

Senritsu had entered the region via airship. She'd cut through mountains, valleys, lakes, and general forestry with the help of bullet trains, cars, and trolleys. What would arguably be months worth of travel on foot, she completed in mere days with the help of her contacts and their fast-moving vessels. Once she'd landed in the far northeastern banks of the unnamed country, she sensed a thick cloud of dread slowly permeating the very fabric of the land. She'd been hunting for the better part of a month now, and not once did she smell a clown on her territory.

But here he was, in all of his make-believe glory, sitting in a simple grey leotard underneath the pale afternoon sky.

Senritsu sipped on her coffee as the man took small, dainty bites of his cake. “An audition, you say?”

He nodded, sucking lewdly on the fork. He slid the fork out of his mouth while grinning. “The company headquarters are in the mountains. It's a small theater, but it has almost seventy dancers, and good ones at that. Doesn't it seem strange?”

She knew that he knew _exactly_ how strange the entire thing was, because if he hadn't, he never would have followed her to the cafe tucked into the far corner of the town, giving view to the magnificent wheat fields just yards away.

“Most strange,” she mumbled pensively. “I'm hunting a missing dancer.”

Hisoka quirked an eyebrow “Oh? I thought you hunted unsavory musical compositions... not blacklisted dancers.”

“Blacklisted? What do you mean?”

Hisoka's eyes widened comically. Coupled with the grin and alabaster skin, he looked almost demonic. “The one you're hunting – she's not blacklisted from her previous company?”

Senritsu crinkled her nose. “Why would she be blacklisted? She wasn't a prima in her prior roles, and from the people I've talked to, she was quite the traveler.” Senritsu had records of the woman's performances in Ochima and Saherta. She wasn't a prima, but she hadn't been a wastrel either. She'd been a corpsman in three companies after graduating from an academy in the capital city of Ochima, and then a soloist at two more before trekking to the unnamed country to join its secretive ballet company in the mountains.

“No one cares about a girl from another country,” Senritsu murmured, “except for her parents.”

Hisoka snorted. “That's a first. From what _I_ heard, two primos from Saherta got blacklisted from their companies shortly before they arrived in Heavens Arena. Six primas from the Begerosse Union disappeared within days of each other, and no one put in a missing persons report until _after_ a major marquee event. They weren't slouches either. Tell me, Music Hunter, how do so many popular dancers disappear at the drop of a hat, and no one notices? Not even the police?”

“I'm sure someone's noticed,” Senritsu countered, “... but they might not have spoken up.”

Hisoka stuck another piece of cake in his mouth and chewed softly. “You might be right about that. After all, your girl's parents called for you. No one hired _me_ ,” he sighed dramatically.

Senritsu hummed, sensing a shift in the air. She stared at Hisoka's oddly sculpted form, a mixture of glamour and reality. She wondered how much time he put into sculpting his nose and parts of his throat. It wasn't as if Senritsu knew what he _really_ looked like, but she could sense glamour before she even saw it. The heavy concentration of nen where his arm, nose, and jaw used to be buzzed with a sound only someone of Senritsu's caliber would be able to hear. She'd heard the faint sounds before she even saw the older man. She could hear even more buzzing underneath his plain leotard and simple sneakers, so she wondered how much of him was _actually_ real.

“Why are you really here, Hisoka-san?” She asked softly. “I didn't take you for a dancer.”

He shrugged. “I'm not, but I'm curious. Say, Music Hunter – when was the last time you found yourself hunting a _real_ monster?”

She swallowed the fear in her throat and exhaled shakily. “A long time ago, Hisoka-san.”

“The creature you used to hunt,” he said waving his fingers at her figure, “you stopped looking for it after the ship sank, didn't you? Others have stopped hunting specialty items, and Heavens Arena is pale imitation of what it used to be. The only business booming right now is assassination, with all of the political upheaval in Azia and the Hunter hierarchy. We've been phased out. Not _that_ strange considering an entire ship sunk while under the Hunter Association's watch. Hunters really are the worst, aren't we, Music Hunter?”

Senritsu didn't respond, nor did she confirm his assertions. From the corner of her eye, she saw a crow land deftly on top of a lamppost.

“With Kakin finished, the Spiders dead, and the Zoldycks thriving, it seems... uncanny, doesn't it? While the world burns, some _thing_ in the middle of nowhere starts putting on shows for free.”

Senritsu blinked and turned her gaze back to Hisoka. “Shows? You've attended one of their performances?”

He shook his head. “No, but I'm trying. It's easier to get an audition than to get an invitation. You'd think it was catered towards the rich, but it's not the rich attending... Villages, especially ones on the outskirts, are getting invited to see these dancers, and for free! How does a company put on a free performance, Music Hunter? No one funds entertainment for free. If it's not money the benefactor is after... then what is it?"

“You think it's the dancers,” Senritsu surmised. “You think they're being... sold, perhaps?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he hummed, tapping the metal fork with a sharp, blue nail. “It's strange, so strange... they're just dancers. There's enough of them out there, why _wouldn't_ a trafficker tap into the market while the world's still reeling from war and a failed expedition? But here's the thing, Music Hunter – it went after _popular_ dancers. It went after the best of the best. Do you know how difficult it is to acquire a primo in this economy? Near impossible! And yet, whoever runs that raggedy little mountain joint managed to get _several_. I wondered if maybe they were always meant to be shipped out, but the more I dug, the more I realized... they left willingly. They left willingly and no one's heard from them since.”

“No one except the country folk being invited to their performances,” Senritsu corrected. “The refugees from Azia, the Chimera Ants that escaped Pariston's armies... and the natives.”

“You know then, don't you?” He whispered almost inaudibly before grinning again. He clapped his hands and laughed out loud. “Well, now we _have_ to go out for dinner!” He looked down at his phone and beamed. “I do have some things to tend to before I audition next week, but how about we go for something local tonight? I can meet you in front of the village square... or outside wherever you're subletting, if you wish.”

Senritsu met his leer with a plain smile. “I will meet you in front of the village square, Hisoka-san. How does dusk sound?”

“Perfect,” he purred. With that, he got up and stretched his long limbs. After giving her a small wave, he made his merry way around the curved path that led back to the village main street.

Senritsu sat at the table and finished her coffee before ordering another. Nestled next to her napkins were enough coins to cover double her coffee and pastries. Hisoka had slyly left them there before he left. She fingered the small silver pieces, not so different from the jenny she carried. The unnamed country used the more archaic silver system, but it was a system that befit the countryside. There was no need for heavy bullion here, not when the trades were simple and the people just as unobtrusive.

Her Ochiman dancer had traveled here all the way from her fairly demure land, free of all the misfortune in Azia. Seema had chosen to trek through oceans and forests to get to a small, isolated mountain. With hinterlands just an arm's length away, it was unsettling to think young dancers from all over the world had moseyed over to such a place.

And yet, they had. They'd come, and they'd stayed. They worked shows no one but the chosen villagers seemed to know about. They put on performances for free when it cost jenny just to contact a Hunter before you could even convince them to take a job for an even larger fee. Just what was it that lurked in the shadows of the plain country, so quiet and yet so ingrained in the fabric of the culture that a man in a leotard was as normal as a bald, stout creature like herself?

Senritsu steeled her resolve and crushed a silver coin underneath her fist. She'd get to the bottom of this, regardless of what kind of demon waited for her on the other side.

* * *

In the orchestra, a pianist started their song.

Five ballerinas in red silk dresses trailed out onto the small stage one after the other. Their long, thin legs were wrapped in black lace. Pale pink pointe shoes were barely visible beneath the trails of red chiffon. Torsos and necks were wreathed in red silk ribbons, faces and hair wrapped in black gauzy fabric. The skin of their arms and hands were the only flesh visible to the audience, the only indicators that the people veiled beneath layers of fabric were indeed alive and not just a group hallucination.

Pink stage lights centered on the ballerinas who'd made an arch in the middle of the stage. Suddenly, a trombone joined the piano, then the sharp tinny of a calliope, and in less than a minute, the gentle sounds became the sharp cacophony of twisted circus music.

As the sounds crescendoed, pink lights mixed with hues of purple and red. The children shrieked as one by one, the ballerinas began to drop dramatically to the floor. Light after light went off with each fallen dancer, until the last dancer dropped and all the lights in the hall went dark. Some children continued to shriek while others gasped and held onto their armrests.

And just as quickly, the fear dissipated as the music stopped abruptly. Bright white light returned to the stage and bathed the fallen ballerinas, along with a single, solitary creature no one heard nor saw creep onto the stage during the short period of darkness. Peals of laughter thrummed through the air as parents sighed in relief and wide-eyed young women watched in awe.

Seated in the middle of the fallen arch of ballerinas was a single man – a man who only wore a pair of black trunks, black pointe shoes, and whose head was wrapped in the same gauzy fabric as the ballerinas. His dark brown skin shimmered in the heavy white light, and he sat so still that he looked almost as if he might be a statue.

It was only when the ballerinas began to rise in unison that the adults began to scream.

* * *

That evening, Kurapika ate his dinner at a small restaurant some blocks from the theater. He ordered a heavy meal of meat, fish, and slow-cooked vegetables that gently reminded him of his father's stews and his mother's meat pies. He ate slowly but diligently, polishing off two plates, several jugs of beer, and a dessert of pickled mango. Once he finished, he stepped out into the chilly evening and began his trek back to the inn he was residing in.

He'd seen an advertisement for the performance while taking a walk in the town's garment alley. He'd just passed a store selling bolts of specialty jacquard when his eyes caught a single flyer stapled to a lamppost. It had boasted a ballet performance, free of charge, and with nothing better to do, he'd decided instantly that he would attend.

He'd survived whatever was following him, after all.

With all of the eyes and Pairo's head taken out of their protective jars, and then buried in the dirt of one of the largest trees in the great forest, Kurapika had made his peace. Now, nothing could hunt the forbidden scarlet eyes, and whatever wanted to hunt _him_ was most welcome.

Kurapika had made sure all of the eyes and the head were fully submerged in the earth, had stayed in the forest for an extra two weeks watching the worms and other decomposers of the land slowly break down the flesh to be truly and honestly sure that this would be the last chapter of the Kurta clan once and for all. Once he'd been satisfied that the eyes had completely rotted, he'd packed what little he owned and headed east into the unnamed country.

And now he was in a little town somewhere in the north bordering the sea, and he had nothing left to do but aimlessly wander from one place to the next. The performance had been exhilarating, the dancers as fluid as water, and so powerful that Kurapika had felt their life force thrum vibrantly throughout the entire show.

The fear he'd felt had been the foundation of the euphoria. He didn't think he'd ever be afraid of some music and women dressed in red, but the stage had boasted nen-users. Unbeknownst to the rest of the audience, Kurapika could make out the aura of nen beaming on the stage. Until that moment, he'd thought it was nearly impossible to fully mask one's power in such close quarters, but when the music stopped and the lights went dark, so did the nen. For a moment, Kurapika had thought they'd perished, that the stage had collapsed underneath their feet as the lights died, but when they reappeared five seconds later with the male dancer, Kurapika's heart had practically jumped to his throat.

The stage had thrummed with nen from all of the dancers, except for the male dancer. And yet, even from his seat in the balcony, Kurapika could feel the raw power of the man in the black trunks. His pointe shoes had been plain back, tightly wound around his ankles and up his calves. The black gauze that had been wrapped around his head was even plainer, and yet so strange, so eerie that Kurapika had shuddered once the bright white light bore down on him.

Kurapika's fear had peaked with the rest of the audience as the ballerinas arose from the platform as languidly as ghosts, as if paying homage to the man they'd made an arch around. With sylph-like movements, they'd each grabbed a part of the man and helped him rise to his own feet, but unlike the ballerinas who'd stopped once their feet were flat on the platform, the man had continued to rise until he stood on his pointe shoes. Then he'd spread his arms out and let his head loll backwards as if devoid of any cognition.

And then they'd danced. The ballerinas had moved fluidly across the small stage, leading the man one after the other, turning his tall and bulky figure in earnest pirouettes as if he were a maiden. They'd raised him high above their heads as if he weighed nothing, brought him down back to earth, gently caressed his exposed skin as if he were more doll than man.

After the dance had concluded, the host of dancers bowed deeply to the audience as the stage curtains slowly inched across the stage. Kurapika enjoyed it so much, he'd made a note to return later, after he'd traveled through some more towns and visited old, familiar sites. It wasn't as if he was lacking in time. There was no reason not to enjoy his pointless existence now that his mission was complete.

As he walked towards the inn, he realized that not once did the dancers reveal their faces.

* * *

Senritsu woke up the following morning to dull, grey light. She peeked out from underneath the sheets to stare at storm clouds slowly making their way towards the village. Her cottage was a one-floor ordeal in blacksmiths' alley, small and convenient. In contrast, Hisoka's inn stood near the town's village square, for travelers who weren't planning to stay long, comfortable for the moment, and usually reserved for those traveling in between towns to reach the greater metropolis. It was one of the tallest structures in town, and afforded a view of the mountains over the rock quarry and across the small river. She wondered how much silver Hisoka put in front of the Chimera Ant proprietor to secure its best room.

The man next to her snorted, shifted, and threw his leathery arm over the scarred flesh of her stomach. Hisoka's noseless face pressed into the curve of her neck, and he snored. Senritsu blinked away the blush creeping into her cheeks, and turned her attention back to the downcast sky.

She wondered how long the rain would last.

* * *


	3. Pink Threads

Hisoka scratched his head before making his way to the chain-user. He expected one, maybe two coincidences since he came to the little village, had lucked out with a casual lover who had no problems sharing information with him so as long as he was willing to share his own, but never in his nine lives did he think to meet the mafia lord himself.

Hisoka had to stop himself from squinting his eyes. Wasn't he on the Hunter watchlist for evading arrest? Hisoka waved away the thought and skipped the rest of the way.

“Chain-user!”

“Hisoka-san!”

The villagers gave nary a care.

* * *

“So you're auditioning for a ballet company? That's wonderful! I recently watched a performance up north. I wonder if it's the same one.” Kurapika beamed, and the clown had to wonder if he was taking drugs.

“Chain-user, are you taking drugs?” He asked seriously under the late afternoon sun, filing away that last bit of information for later.

The chain-user chuckled despite himself, and soon broke out into a light, airy laugh Hisoka had never, _ever_ heard out of the man's mouth ever before. His own lips stretched into a lewd grin as the chain-user continued to laugh earnestly. It was a sound Hisoka wanted to covet for himself, a sound he didn't think existed in their horribly ugly world.

“No, no I'm not,” sniffed the blonde, wiping stray tears from his dark brown eyes. “You're actually a lot funnier than people give you credit for.”

Hisoka huffed, twirling a silver coin around his index finger. “I'm _very_ funny, thank you very much.”

The chain-user stifled another bout of laughter and nodded. “That you are. It's good to see you alive and well.”

“What can I say, I'm a man of adventure,” he teased.

“And Senritsu?”

Hisoka blinked. “Huh?”

“I can smell her nen on you,” the chain-user said lightly, and suddenly the spring air turned cold and killing intent rolled off the shorter man in waves as Hisoka's eyes glistened. The smile never left the chain-user's face. “I suspect she's well?”

Hisoka couldn't help but burst into raucous laughter. Still the villagers ignored them, making their merry way to either the wheat fields or the rock quarry. The killing intent became heavier, eliciting beads of sweat from Hisoka's brows, and yet he continued to laugh. The murderous pressure saturated the air so much that Hisoka could feel his body automatically adjust its nen in preparation for a fight.

“Kurapika, stop it!”

The chain-user turned his attention to the intruder while Hisoka continued to laugh. By the time the short woman reached them, nostrils fuming, hat and shawl in a disarray, Hisoka was struggling to contain the snorts in his mouth.

“Senritsu-” the chain-user began apologetically, but was cut off instantly with a palm of her hand. Hisoka slapped a hand over his own mouth and looked positively wretched with glee.

“Enough,” she said softly, “let's go somewhere private before you embarrass yourselves again.”

* * *

Kurapika kept his head down and his face sullen while Hisoka chattered about one thing or another. Senritsu had led them to a small bench overlooking the wheat fields. Once they were seated, Senritsu breathed a sigh of relief and adjusted her hat and shawl.

“-so Chain-user here is apparently on a permanent vacation, and guess what Music Hunter? He saw our ballet dancers in the flesh! And heavens, we were having the _loveliest_ conversation until he said your name, Music Hunter, you wouldn't _believe_ -”

“I understand, Hisoka-san,” Senritsu said politely, giving him a strained smile. Hisoka's smile faltered but didn't disappear. Instead, he shut his mouth and looked to the fields.

“I'm sorry for my insinuations,” Kurapika coughed lightly into his fist. “It was unseemly. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“You seem to jump often,” Hisoka drawled, “to conclusions, off ship wreckage, into a makeshift boat.”

Kurapika didn't deny the allegations and instead sat still in his seat. Senritsu sighed and looked back up at the sky. “Its been a while hasn't it, Kurapika?”

Kurapika looked in her direction and sat quietly for some moments before speaking. “Four years,” he clarified.

“Since the Black Whale went down?” Hisoka inquired.

Kurapika nodded. “Since the Black Whale went down.”

* * *

For Hisoka, the night the Black Whale sank had started off rather uneventfully.

He'd been playing multiple roles, a different one for each deck of the ship, quietly gathering information on the Spiders scattered on board. His plan had been to hunt them down one by one when they were alone, away from the protection of their friends, seeking pleasure and comfort on a ship filled with every want and need. That night, he'd just finished his waitstaff shift on the upper deck, and was quietly enjoying a glass of red wine on an empty balcony when everything went to Hell.

He'd hoped to murder Chrollo while he was shitting in the toilet, but alas, his luck had run out when he heard the first, screeching tear of a claw ripping through the hull of the large ship.

After that, it had been a mess of torn steel, screaming children, and dark, shadowy figures rising from the depths to completely obliterate all traces of the ship. Oddly enough, the creatures hadn't cared much for the makeshift boats that popped up sparingly across the black sea, nor did it give much thought to nen-users who'd conjured air transportation and fashioned wings made from debris. Hisoka, of course, had kept an eye out for Spiders, even with his own life hanging by a thread. He'd been caught by an electrical wire, had half his Bungee Gum and Texture Surprise dripping from his face and throat and exposing the burnt flesh beneath, and yet, he'd been much better off than the human beings being crushed to death beneath claws, fleshy tentacles, and stringy, algae-like fur that crept along the walls of the collapsing ship and suffocated everything in its path.

It was only after he'd found Chrollo crushed beneath a fallen beam did Hisoka finally breathe. He'd exhaled, crushed Chrollo's skull beneath his feet, then made his way off the bloody remains of the ship.

He'd managed to swim out to a floating raft full of peasants, and once they'd seen his ruined face and fingerless hands, they'd pulled him aboard, wrapped their arms around his shivering form, and told him that everything would be alright, that they'd live to see the next day.

And they had. Hisoka had lived long enough to see the chain-user jump off wreckage and into a boat, one arm holding a bundle wrapped in white cloth. He'd lived long enough to see the Music Hunter make eye contact with ghastly yellow eyes that peered from beneath the sea. He'd lived long enough to see the morning sun, so clear and bright, while wreckage and bodies that hadn't made it to safety floated listlessly in the sea.

All traces of the creatures disappeared overnight. The first rescue ships only began to arrive two days after the sinking. Hisoka had lived – he'd lived, and the thought never stopped bringing a smile to his face.

* * *

“We can meet at the restaurant next to the shoe store after Hisoka-san's audition,” Senritsu said hastily. She shifted nervously, looking at her small wristwatch.

Hisoka pouted, but got up and made his away from the pair. “Until tonight, my dears!” He didn't bother waving, simply disappearing into an alley nearby.

“I saw the flyer,” Kurapika repeated. “That's how I found the performance.”

“They're all strategically hidden from hunters, Kurapika-san,” Senritsu reminded him, as if they hadn't been going in circles for the last hour, as if news of Kurapika's attendance at the show wasn't just a shadow of a conversation meant to cover up the dread that followed any mention of the Black Whale. Senritsu wasn't as afraid as she was pensive – there was work to be done, and that work had nothing to do with the monsters that destroyed a vessel carrying thousands of living, breathing people. The monster that had seduced Seema was something else, _had_ to be something else, because if they were the same, had the same purpose, then what could Senritsu do?

Kurapika sensed her distress but didn't comment on it. She silently thanked him for respecting the boundary that had grown between them over the years.

“Word-of-mouth from villagers,” Kurapika noted absently. “And prolonged spying – that would be helpful to find where the performances are taking place before they happen. Since you and Hisoka-san already have dossiers, I can be your plant. They've shown themselves to me once... they can probably do it again. After all, I'm not the one hunting them.”

Senritsu gave him a plain look, one that buttoned up her emotions well enough that he couldn't see the sadness lurking in her heart. “That would be helpful.”

He nodded and began gathering his bag and phone. “Anything I can do to help. I owe you quite a bit, so I'd like to repay you any way I can.”

Her stomach clenched and she smiled softly before rising from her place on the bench. “Until tonight then.”

He made his towards the town while she looked at the village exit. A long, dusty path curved around the wheat fields, and into the forest shadowed by the early afternoon light. Senritsu clutched her bag and made her way to the road leading into the forest.

* * *

For Senritsu, the sinking of the Black Whale had just been the proverbial cherry on top of an otherwise disastrous evening. It had been the night she'd experienced her worst nightmare since the demon of the Dark Sonata warped the flesh on her skin and transformed her into a troll-like creature. She's gasped awake and couldn't, for the life of her, go back to sleep. She'd eventually dressed herself and walked out to the outer deck overlooking the sea since she wasn't scheduled to be on watch until dawn.

The ship never made it to dawn. Minutes after Senritsu had arrived at the steel railings, a loud screech reverberated through the air and pierced her eardrums. A few hours later, the Black Whale was finished.

For Senritsu, it wasn't so much the destruction that ailed her after all these years. After all, the ship's purpose had been to cull out the weak and station one prince, one ruler, above all others. The fate of the Black Whale had been decided since its conception. The _execution_ of its demise though – to this day, Senritu made every effort to shy away from the memories.

When she'd finally climbed into the boat with Oito and Prince Woble, the yellow eyes of the demon who'd haunted her since her transformation appeared in the water. She'd blinked, rubbed her tired eyes, pretended she was imagining things, but she'd known then, just as she knew now, that the demon had been there that night. Maybe it hadn't boiled the flesh off its victims, or started a chorus of screams for the sheer delight of it, but it'd been there. It's been there, and it had stared up at Senritu's frozen figure from the depths, promising her that it'd be back, that they'd play the Sonata together once more, that her soul, ultimately, belonged to it and no one else.

Four years later, and Senritsu hadn't made a single effort to find the creature. Why would she, when she knew that it had found her first?

She wondered why it was that out of everyone else, only Kurapika could remember that night with few qualms. Was it because he'd found his cousin's eyes? Was the thrill of completing his life-long mission so exhilarating that the destruction of the ship barely registered in his head? Even Hisoka had fled, she remembered, had seen his noseless figure swim pitifully out to a boat carrying farmers who'd encouraged him to swim faster so that he wouldn't get caught up by the debris and sink.

Even Leorio could barely speak of that night, and he'd been carried away to safety on the back of a conjurer's wings.

They'd all run, in their own ways, off the ship and into the arms of what little salvation was left for them.

When all was said and done, it was Senritsu and her contacts that had created new identities for Oito and Woble, so to the rest of the world, they were as dead as the rest of the royal family. Senritsu still periodically checked in on the woman and her daughter, but it was from a distance. Healing was the art of letting go, and the Black Whale was a massive cloud that deserved to be in the past, along with the rest of its passengers.

And it was meant to be the same with Kurapika, with Leorio, with everyone else that had been aboard the ship, and still managed to survive. She hadn't expected to meet him ever again, not even by accident, so to see that he was alive, healthy, and still so beautiful tore her apart on the inside.

She blinked away the tears, the years of pain and longing swirling turbulently in her chest. The last time she'd loved deeply, the demon had snatched her beloved away and turned her flesh into that of an ugly little creature. She could never be with someone she loved, because then that would mean inviting in the demon that she knew was watching her every step. No – she had to remain a floating wisp in the wind. Pleasures of the flesh were acceptable, but love?

Never again.

Senritsu sat on the flat rock and opened Seema's letter in the pink light of dusk. The subtle stench of death that permeated the envelope and the corresponding letter was the same stench that had wafted off Kurapika's skin, the same stench she'd sniffed out before she even noticed his nen signature. As the sun dipped, she began to read.

* * *

That night, Hisoka regaled stories of how he'd passed the audition almost instantaneously. Corpsmen for judges, a dinky nightclub for auditioning space, not at all like the auditions in Saherta and Ochima, and yet there were thirty dancers lined up for a chance to show off their skills. He and two others had made it, and they were all set to report to the mountain base for practice in four days.

As Hisoka chattered, Senritsu quietly sipped her beer. Kurapika, in contrast, talked amiably with the male Hunter and kept one eye on her placid form, taking note of her small fist clutching its beer mug with unnatural force.

* * *


	4. Black Gauze

“What do I have that they don't?” Kurapika muttered out loud as he wove through the crowd of workers commuting to the rock quarry.

The sun was high, beating relentlessly down on the quarry workers making their way to the construction post next to the river. Summer was near, and the early rays of light were as restless as they were scorching hot.

Once at the quarry post, the workers would dress in protective gear, grab their assorted machinery, and resume chipping away at the rock formation. Kurapika had observed the behavior in his first days in the village. His intention had always been to scout the river next to the quarry before making his way into the forest on the opposite side of the river. The mountain stood sentry in the middle of the greenery. Beyond that was the sea, and Kurapika still hadn't decided which one he sought more.

“Is it because I'm not hunting them? Is that why?” He continued to mutter to himself, the workers paying him no mind.

Once he reached the outskirts of the village, he veered off in the opposite direction of where the quarry post was stationed. He kept walking until he reached a steep hill that descended down into a stony plain that bordered the rushing river. It was easier to see the other side from this path, but nearly impossible to cross the river. He'd have to climb down the quarry next to the post, cross that part of the river, and then climb up the rocks on the other side to get into the forest. He could always call for a boat, or continue traveling and make his way around the river to reach the forest and mountain that way, but that all seemed too easy, too mundane. Senritsu and Hisoka were hunting a supposed kidnapper, not some country goon.

“I need to help them,” he said out loud, nothing but rushing water and the chirping of forest creatures witnesses to his declaration. “My friends need me.”

He could almost hear Leorio's scathing remarks in his head. Kurapika laughed halfheartedly. He'd abandoned his friends a long time ago. Senritsu and Hisoka were a couple on a hunt together – they had nothing to do with Kurapika or his purposeless existence. He was a guest in their nexus, not a participant.

The longing in his chest strengthened as he settled down on the sandy patch he'd cleared away days ago. Eyes affixed on the trees beyond the river, he let the harsh sunlight beat down on his head while he stared straight ahead.

It was a form of meditation for him, a way for him to map the network of nen that pulsated from the mountain beyond. It was a steady hum that harmonized with the cadence of the rest of the forest critters, followed the rhythm of the birds and the river, as if merely a member of nature's orchestra.

It was calling him. It crooned as if it knew exactly how deep the longing was, knew how much he ached to talk to his old friends again, knew how much he wished he hadn't ignored calls, letters, and all forms of communications for so long that eventually, they'd just stopped.

It sensed his feeling of being excluded, unwanted, feelings he'd experienced early in his life when his family was still alive and he desired nothing more than to see the outside world. Now, his entire family was dead, their deaths avenged, and he seemed right back where he started – alone and longing for something beyond his reach, something that couldn't be caught with his trembling hands alone.

And deep down, Kurapika knew that, that was the reason why he'd been invited to see the ballet. He, who had nothing, had been invited to experience something of value, something special.

Kurapika hated to admit it, but the performance had been put on with something akin to love.

* * *

“He wants to join us,” Hisoka said airily, stopping briefly at every word to kiss the marred flesh of her stomach.

Senritu stilled. “They could decide not to invite him to the next dance if he comes with us – or worse, try and hurt him when we're not around.”

Hisoka smiled into the wide expanse of her stomach before propping his chin on her belly button. He looked up at her distant eyes. “You don't think he can handle himself?”

“I know he can... but I don't know if I want him to – not on my behalf, anyway.”

“He can join us here too,” he began nonchalantly. “I'd like that very much, you know. I know you would too.”

She chuckled lightly, combing a rough hand through his his thick, red hair. The red locks had grown longer with the years. It didn't look like much with the nen and hair gel, but free of any manipulation, it was a thick, red mane of deep red that Senritsu found fascinating and soft. She untangled waves and massaged his scalp, earning a purr of contentment. He lay his cheek flat across her stomach and stroked her thighs.

“He can come,” she said softly. “He'd find a way, regardless.”

“You know him better than I do,” Hisoka admitted. “He wants adventure, and this is as close to an adventure he's ever going to get. It's not like he has any Spiders left to hunt. What else is there for him?”

Senritsu didn't answer him. Instead, she continued stroking his head until she felt the urge build in her chest again. Then she nudged him to shift his posture, and he gladly moved into position until they were bound again by limbs, sweat, and the desire for companionship.

When they finished, she propped her ear against his chest and fell asleep with his heartbeat.

* * *

They traveled separately, one by one, Hisoka first, then Senritsu, and finally Kurapika. Hisoka didn't bother holding back. He trekked to the stone plain, built a bridge with his Bungee Gum and Texture Surprise, and walked over the raging waters and onto the other side.

Senritsu used the village's boatman and paid for passage. Her trip took the longest because the boatman sat farther away than the stone path and the quarry post. She mapped the roads in her head, calculating the time between passages, until she reached the banks of the other side of the river.

Kurapika waited until evening fell, and then climbed down the quarry, swam across the water where the currents were the least treacherous, and climbed up the rock wall of the opposite side before climbing onto the cliff overlooking the village.

Senritsu met him at the base of a large tree they'd previously agreed on. Then she led him to the small camp they'd made deep within the forest, food already roasting above the fire while Hisoka practiced moving his prosthetic limbs and fingers in preparation for his arrival at the mountain base early the next morning.

They fell asleep inside comfortable sleeping bags, each lost in their own thoughts. When dawn broke, they gathered their bags and continued moving through the forest, counting their steps and mapping their passages, until they finally reached the path that curved around the mountain and into the base entrance above.

Senritsu and Kurapika waved Hisoka goodbye as he made the trek up by himself, promising to receive him once practice were over. In the meantime, they made their way back into the forest and continued to poke around the mountainscape.

“What did you do with the Scarlet Eyes?” Senritsu asked softly, as they made their way around a well-traveled path, indicating the frequency of the activity surrounding the base.

“I buried them in the earth,” he responded soon after.

“Wouldn't it have been better to cremate them?”

“I wanted to return them to our home. Don't worry – I stayed until the worms got them.”

Senritsu nodded, following a path of well-trimmed ferns. “Have you spoken to Leorio and the others? I saw Gon at a trade show some months ago. He's traveling with Kite now, hunting for rare gems. He seems happy.”

“I haven't, but I'm happy for him.”

“... Your mission is over now, isn't it?”

“It is,” he murmured softly.

Before she could pry some more, her nose caught the smell of death. Before Kurapika could open his mouth, she held up one hand to stop him from speaking, and pointed the other at a network of vines gently wrapped around clusters of holly fern. Kurapika's eyes followed her outstretched hand and landed on a black flower with a bright red pistil.

“What is that?” He asked flatly.

“I don't know,” ground out. Her hands began to tremble as a deep foreboding bloomed in her chest. “But it smells like the letter my target sent her parents before she disappeared. It's how you smelled when I found you with Hisoka.”

Before Kurapika could open his mouth, something whined softly. They peered at the flower as intently as they could without moving any closer. They watched as it stretched and moaned, fluttering its deep black petals, before releasing an eerie breath of red spray. They jumped back as the mist dissipated into the air. Before she knew it, Senritsu had Kurapika's hand by the wrist, and they were running away as fast as their feet could take them.

* * *

“This is too easy,” Hisoka muttered to himself while stretching in the wide, open atrium of the practice hall. “You're all here,” he scoffed. “All of you! This was supposed to be a dramatic uncovering of unsavory sales practices!”

His voice was too low to be heard by the other dancers, but the few that sensed his ire gave him radiant smiles. He smiled back, stifling the discontent in his throat.

“You're one of the newbies, right?”

Hisoka turned around to look at a masked woman dressed in a plain brown leotard and frayed pink ballet shoes. He recalled Kurapika's words about the ballerinas performing in face wraps, but never guessed that they'd also wear them during practice when greeting a newcomer. He wondered how the woman spoke underneath the heavy white gauze. Her lips and nose were hidden beneath layers of fabric, and yet the voice didn't sound a bit muffled.

“Indeed I am,” he noted with beaming eyes.

“Welcome! Orientation is bagels and cupcakes, and then it's practice until four. Boss Man has a show later tonight in the vicinity, so we have to skedaddle early to set up, but moving forward, it's practice from nine to six, with an hour for lunch, four days a week. Since you're new, you'll be practicing Wednesdays through Saturdays for the next two months, and then you'll start performing with the corpsmen in the third month. You'll travel twice a month to coastal towns for performances, but usually, you'll be local so you can go home right after the show.”

Hisoka quirked an eyebrow. “No accommodations?”

The woman laughed lightly. Hisoka had to stop himself from cringing. He couldn't see her lips move, and yet she spoke and laughed as if there was nothing stifling her breath or her sounds. He wondered what kind of nen she utilized to be able to speak and breath normally under heavy layers of cloth.

“We're not a live-in facility. Boss Man doesn't like that kind of stuff.”

By Boss Man, Hisoka had to assume it was the seven-foot tall dancer the Chain-user had spoken of. He was the one of the many dancers in the room he couldn't find.

“And where is our lovely 'Boss Man?'” He asked with feigned curiosity.

“Working, as usual,” she replied easily, meeting his question with a string of chuckles.

Hisoka decided to go with the flow, even if he was wrong and the Boss Man and the seven-foot tall dancer weren't the same person.

“I've heard the villagers talk about a masked dancer with a body to die for,” He whispered conspiratorially while looking around the atrium and eying the male dancers whose faces were uncovered. None of the men fit Kurapika's description one bit, and yet both his missing primos were in the room.

“Boss Man doesn't come to day training on show days,” the woman added casually. “But you'll see him tomorrow. He'll be greeting all of the newbies personally.”

Hisoka vaguely wondered if the man was a vampire of some sort. The inside of the mountain was largely dark, with ghastly white lighting that only illuminated the main dance hall. He'd entered the mountain through a narrow cave lit up with soft flame torches that did little for his eyesight.

Once a male danseur had greeted him at the main door, he started putting together the base in his head. The structure separated into different floors with different practice venues. They were on the ground floor atrium, a hall suitable for an open-air performance. Earlier, the danseur who'd greeted him had led himself and two of the new girls to the second and third stories, the second story a simple stage one would gaze upon in a plush theater, and the third a stonework room that could have been the raised dais in a coliseum theater.

Hisoka had noted that the higher they went up the mountain, the smaller the rooms became. He would not have been be surprised if the base was modeled after a pyramid, with the top room being where the Boss Man slept soundly while his puppets danced below.

“Well, I can't wait to meet him.” Hisoka didn't hide his lasciviousness this time, outwardly projecting his lust.

The woman hardly budged. He suspected she wouldn't, well aware of the more sordid tales that haunted the ballet companies of Saherta and the Begerosse Union.

“Good to know,” she said amicably. “Well, are you hungry? There are flower cakes today, specially made for the newbies. It's made from a rare plant, and they taste amazing.”

“I can't wait to try them, but before we eat – won't you tell me your name?"

He could _hear_ her lips split into a smile. “I can do one better.”

He watched as she unwrapped the gauzy fabric to reveal brown skin and thick, black hair. The wraps hung limply down from around her neck, and Hisoka had to will every cell in his body from twitching at the face in front of him.

The woman looked deeply into his eyes, her smile as radiant as her skin and hair. “My name is Seema, and I'm one of the principals.”

* * *


	5. Blue Orbs

Senritsu and Kurapika found Hisoka waiting for them where they saw him off, slumped against the base of a tree, oddly silent. His painted face was stretched into a tight smile, and Kurapika sensed something deeply odd about the nen permeating his skin.

“Hisoka?” Senritsu asked tentatively, Kurapika following closely behind.

“Ah, Music Hunter,” said the clown, uncharacteristically soft. “Shall we head back?”

Kurapika watched Senritsu eye the older hunter critically. “What happened?”

Hisoka's smile stretched wider, going from discomforting to downright horrifying. “Let's get back to the inn first.”

Kurapika steeled himself, but before he could slip the chains into his hand, Senritsu stepped up to the clown-like man and picked up his hand. He watched as she gently squeezed the older man's fingers.

“Let's go,” she said gravely.

Hisoka got up and began following her, hands entwined as they made their way back to the edge of the forest. They stayed silent all the way to the river. Once they reached the small phone that was connected to the boatman on the other side, Kurapika watched intently as Hisoka stared at the ground while Senritsu made the call. His gait was uneven, almost as if he didn't feel comfortable in his own body. Kurapika's concentration broke when Senritsu returned to take Hisoka's hand again.

Once the boatman arrived, they all piled into the wooden vessel and rode silently across the river. Dusk was still hours away, so Kurapika kept his eyes straight ahead, away from the couple.

Kurapika bid them goodbye at the entrance of the inn where Hisoka was residing. He stood silent and still in front of the door until he felt their nen disappear into the interior of the building.

* * *

Kurapika spent the rest of the day sequestered in a dusty corner of an alehouse, taking measured sips of his lukewarm beer. His dinner was a loaf of bread and some mulled wine, and by the time he left, he wanted nothing more than to throw up and fall asleep.

It was well past dark once he was outside. The stars shone brightly in the sky, as if ambivalent to the happenings below. He walked along an empty alley in between two residential buildings. Another ten minutes and three more alleys, he'd be at the cottage he was renting. Another five minutes after that, he'd be dead to the world, lost in a dreamless sleep that didn't promise much besides a morning full of anxiety, plus the hangover.

And yet, as he walked quietly between the brick buildings and over plastic bags and dead leaves, he could _feel_ the darkness shy away from him as the stars lit his path. They illuminated his steps as he shuffled along, as if he were a child and not an old, depressed, wretched little creature with little left to live for. He swallowed the bitterness in his throat, half beer breath, half shame. Why was he so angry? Was it because Hisoka had been in pain and he couldn't fathom such a thing? Because Senritsu had shown humility when he'd been prepared to brandish his chains? Was it because after all these years, he barely knew himself, much less the people he considered friends?

Happy cheers and gasps of exasperation snapped him out of his reverie.

The last alley he meant to cut across was between a small nightclub and a restaurant. The restaurant shut down a little after dusk, but the nightclub usually hosted evening revelers a little past midnight. Instead of the usual leather jackets and frilly dresses, Kurapika saw that a line of young adults and teenagers were dressed in their best formal-wear. They waited anxiously at the doors of the small club. From where Kurapika could see, the double doors were closed, but he suspected that they wouldn't be for long.

Curiosity got the best of him, and he caved.

“Excuse me, but what is this?” He asked a woman dressed in a blue cotton dress accented by a black chiffon scarf wrapped delicately around her throat.

The woman turned to him and smiled widely. “It's the ballet!” She practically squealed, bright-eyed and beaming. She fished a piece of paper out of her small purse and handed it to him. A single glance told him that it was similar to the flyer he'd found weeks ago in the coastal town he'd been visiting. What were the odds that he'd get lucky the very day Hisoka came back from his first practice. He quelled the urge to turn the flyer to dust with his nen, and instead handed it back to the woman. After thanking her, he calculated the chances of him surviving the night if he attended the show, and realized that he wouldn't, not unless he chose to walk away and forget he was ever here.

But Kurapika's curiosity had led him outside his forest and away from his tribe. It had led him into the great big world, onto a ship that drowned in the middle of the sea, so he knew his answer.

“I'll think I'll watch it too,” he told the woman who didn't seem to hear him. He looked up at the sky and wondered if the stars knew he'd make it here on this night, the one night he wished for nothing more than the endless fog of drunken sleep.

Kurapika sighed and brought his gaze to the door. When they opened and people began streaming inside, he promised himself that this would be his last night here. What more did he have left to offer, besides his never-ending agony?

* * *

They'd fallen asleep on empty stomach, Hisoka naked and shivering, while Senritsu had kept a tight grip around his broad chest. When she stirred awake, she found that his face was pressed against the flat mounds of her chest, breathing softly. Senritsu peered at the man she grew to call a friend over the weeks. He reminded her of someone from long ago, someone who she used to play the flute with, a man who'd perished in the black flames of the Dark Sonata.

That man had, had the most magnificent smell, a mixture of lavender and honey, so sweet and soft that Senritsu still remembered all the times they'd made love before his untimely death.

Hisoka was nothing like that man, and he didn't smell like anything sweet or alluring. When they first met, he'd smelled faintly of wood and smoke. When she saw him on the Black Whale, it was fire mixed with plastic, an acrid burn that made her crinkle her nose. When she met him again, he was still unpleasant to smell, but at the base of the tree that afternoon, she smelled nothing but the cold, hard stench of death.

There was death on his skin. There was the cloying smell of decay mixed with earthy tones, and yet, when she'd helped him undress and then took him into her arms, not an inch of his skin was modified. None of his prosthetics remained. His mask was gone. His hands were whole, his face was real, and he was _beautiful_ , almost hauntingly so.

And he was whole.

“I met her,” Hisoka whispered into her chest. “She's not dying... not anymore.”

Senritsu gulped. “You found her?”

He scoffed into the fabric of her shirt. “ _She_ found _me_. It's like she knew why I was there... and then she fed me flower cakes. It was the strangest thing, Music Hunter. The petals were black, and they tasted bland, like paper. And yet, I kept eating until I'd polished off the plate. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, I woke up... whole.” After he finished speaking, he looked up into her eyes and stared, eyes wide and slightly manic.

She began threading her fingers through his hair and gently massaged his scalp. “If she made you whole, then why do you smell like death?”

He snorted. The mirth began to return to his eyes, and she felt slightly more confident. “I've died before,” he purred. “Chrollo Lucilfer – he managed to kill me once.”  
  


“... but you're here.”

He crowed with laughter in response, bringing a smile to her own lips. Her hands left his hair and she found herself rising from his bed.

He pouted while she straightened her shirt and trousers. “We have to know what's in those flowers.”

“How do you know it's the flower?”

“Kurapika and I found a live one in the forest. It doesn't seem like it blooms on its own. I'll investigate more.”

“That's all?”

Senritsu remembered the smell of death, the spray of mist, the deep foreboding that came upon her when she witnessed the flower _breathe_.

“Yes,” she lied.

Hisoka didn't bother challenging her. Instead, he scratched his chest, and lay back down on his side. “The dancers don't live in the mountain, but I have a feeling the owner does. They call him 'Boss Man.' A little uncanny, but not unheard of. If you stay past dusk tomorrow, you can follow Seema back to where she lives, and question her for yourself. I'll be taking an... unguided tour after hours.”

She looked at him with heavy eyes. “You're going back?”

He nodded. “Of course. My fingers magically grew back, so did my leg, and so did my fucking _face_. I don't know what she did, but I want to know.” He gave her a wide grin, one that deepened the light sprinkling of crow's feet around his eyes. “I want to know why she gave those flower cakes to _me_. How did she know I wasn't whole? I want to know everything! It's the greatest mystery of the world, Senritsu, don't you see? Chrollo Lucilfer killed me and I came back, but I came back less than half of what I used to be, but after your woman fed me some stupid cakes, I came back whole. I'm _whole_. Not a single thing about me is a lie. I can't leave this place without knowing why – I won't.”

Senritsu didn't bother arguing with him. Instead she picked up her bag and her hat, and exited his room quietly.

* * *

Kurapika managed to get a seat at the row farthest from the raised platform.

The nightclub was too small for a regular stage, so instead, a square dais had been built in the middle of what would normally be the dance floor. The lounge area had been transformed into quaint sitting area, and the disco lights and smoke machines were switched out for stage lights and streamers.

To the elitist eye, the setup would seem cheap, gaudy even, but Kurapika knew that the nightclub was one of the few places in the entire village that mentioned any relationship to the modernized megalopolis hours away. On an average night, popular music would play on the speakers until just about midnight, after which the house lights would turn on and the revelers told to go home. Kurapika had seen groups of girls barely sixteen years old traipsing away from the club after it closed. It wasn't a bastion of sin and evil as most nightclubs were in Yorknew. Instead, the small club was a haven for the ones seeking an exit from the hullabaloo of countryside life. Kurapika had once been the same. He was certain that once those girls were of age, they'd do what he had done, and set off for the world with only a suitcase and a hat for company.

To exchange the disco lights for a night of ballet was indeed an auspicious moment. That meant that the youth that frequented the place knew of the company's existence. Kurapika wondered how long the company had been marketing to the little village's youth. It was a strategic move, Kurapika would admit. It wasn't the drunken melancholy of an alehouse, or the rugged exterior of the rock quarry post. It was a place where youthful came to dance and fall in love. It was perfect.

It was also where Hisoka had, had his audition days earlier. Kurapika wondered why he didn't think to put the picture together then.

The jolly twang of a string quartet resounded through the crowded floor. The lights dimmed and the crowd began to quiet around him. Soon, a piano player joined the strings, then the soft beat of a hand drum, and finally the airy chimes of a tambourine.

The music went on for some minutes, lifting the grogginess from his shoulders. His hands felt warm and dry, and the deep-seated lethargy that followed his drunkenness found itself slowly wash away with the emphatic pull of the violins. A pleasant feeling overtook his body, and he wondered if the musicians were Music Hunters as well. The power to assuage rage and replace it with awe was a skill only Senritsu seemed to have, but the orchestra came close. Kurapika was now alert, his hands twitching for the kind of thrill he hadn't sought since he'd decided to leave his tribe to travel the world.

The music continued as a line of men walked up the stairs onto the raised platform and took their places. He counted eight men and no women. The men moved liked sprites across the length of the platform, quick but lethal. Some of the men were larger than the average male Kurapika had come across, but still not as tall and strangely beautiful as the masked man who had towered over all of the women in his first show.

And unlike the previous show, all of the dancers were unmasked. They wore full-body black leotards with an open-chest concept, paired with black ballet shoes, and red ribbons looped around their throats like ornate necklaces. Kurapika found that the men were more beautiful than any other men he'd ever witnessed before, and a gentle flicker of desire arose in his chest. One of the men thrust himself into the arms of another, and they twirled together, arms entwined, the taller of the males wrapped in an intimate embrace by the shorter.

When the music began to crescendo, Kurapika felt his mouth dry out instantly. He sensed the shift in the nen on the stage, counted and then recounted the dancing figures, and wracked his brain trying to figure out who propelled the great burst of energy at the first signs of the crescendo.

Kurapika's breath hitched when he saw a seven-foot tall masked man enter the scene. By now, the danseurs moved as if in a frenzy, controlled by some otherworldly force that provoked their most hidden desires. A pair of dancers mimicked the movements of lovers in the thralls of early courtship, two more pirouetted as if they were machines and not men, while the two that twirled in a lovers' embrace didn't make any moves to stop. The remaining two dancers dropped at the feet of the masked man dressed in white, and raised their heads in protestation. The masked man knelt down and gently embraced both men before they began leading the giant around the stage like the women had at the previous show.

Like magic, the dancing couples split apart so that the masked man get could take the center stage. They twirled and carried him across the raised platform, as if they were in a trance and wanted nothing more than to please the man that towered over everyone else in the room. They jumped and stomped, did splits and pirouetted. They embraced the masked man and found themselves carried on his broad shoulders as the audience gasped and cheered at the beautiful medley of sounds and movements.

As the music began to wind down, the danseurs began untying their red ribbons and dropping them on the floor. Kurapika watched in awe as they moved like water across the makeshift stage, stepping over and around the red fabric like it wasn't there. From where Kurapika sat, it looked somewhat like blood.

When the chimes of the tambourine and the string quartet's emphatic waves were all that was left of the music, the danseurs began unwrapping the white gauze on the masked man's face. The crowd gasped at first before quieted down shortly after as anticipation overtook surprise. Kurapika found himself standing with some others, watching while six of the men danced in unison while two of them unwrapped the tall man's gauze until he was standing in nothing but his white leotard and white pointe shoes. The crowd swelled with cheers and applause when the last bit of gauze fell away. Some of the crowd members threw colored streamers, while men and women alike threw flowers and fistfuls of decorative tissue. They were absolutely enthralled, so caught up in their own euphoria that not one of them realized that the creature in front of them wasn't a person.

It took several seconds for it to register in Kurapika's head that what he was _actually_ looking at was a monster, and not a man. It took another few seconds for him to recall past conversations, some with people who were long dead, and others with people who he hadn't spoken with since the sinking of the Black Whale.

And yet, as the cheers echoed throughout the small club, and the danseurs bowed deeply in front of the jovial crowd, Kurapika parsed through every bit of information he had stored in his head until he collapsed in his chair. A painful lethargy crept back into his legs, and he watched shakily as the danseurs exit the raised platform and disappeared into the back of the venue.

Before it went into the shadows with its companions, Brion the Calamity Head turned its faceless orb directly to where Kurapika was sitting, and cocked its abnormally large head to the side. If it had eyes and a mouth, Kurapika would have thought it was smiling at him. Once it'd straightened its head, it sauntered back into the shadows and left Kurapika to his own devices in a crowd full of villagers who saw nothing wrong with a creature that pretended to be a man. No eyes, no lips, no face, and yet, Kurapika had been able to read every expression – even the one that beckoned him to its embrace.

* * *


	6. Purple Song

_Dearest Mother & Father,_

_I've made a new friend! Remember how I was telling you about that application I put in for a corpsmen role in Saherta? Unfortunately, I didn't make the cut, but after the audition, I went for drinks with some of the other rejected candidates. I've found a friend in an amazing person! He was shy most of the night, but when we hit the dance floor, he CAPTIVATED the entire crowd. I couldn't believe he didn't get a role, but by the end of the night, I knew I wanted to work with him at least once before the cancer comes back._

_He told me about another company taking auditions this week, but its based out of somewhere in Heavens Arena, so I'm a little iffy at the moment. But... I think I'll check it out. I want to see a few more places before they tell me I can't dance anymore. And yes, I've been taking my meds and going to rehab once a week. I'm not a hecking liar! :PPP_

_Yesterday, some of my friends from the studio came to visit me. One of the girls invited me out to dinner next week, and I think I might take her up on her offer. I know I'm supposed to be focusing on my health right now, but I don't want to stop living. She's really nice, and she's got the kind of sass I know would make you guys laugh._

_Well, I'm off to the studio again for practice. I'll write again next month, maybe from here, maybe from Heavens Arena. You never know ;)_

_\- Love, your ever faithful daughter, Seema_

* * *

Senritsu saw Hisoka off at the stone plain before turning around to make her way back into the village.

For the next several hours, she packed her bags while calling any contact that ever dealt with flowers and or medicine. Each of them got just enough of the story that they were interested enough to answer Senritsu's questions, but not so much that they'd become so intrigued as to follow up with her in the future. Every inquiry was peppered with enough lies to deflect its true purpose. It was the nature of the game – a hunt was only a hunt so as long as someone or something made it worth hunting. If word got around that a suspicious looking foreign plant was taking root out in the boonies, it would stop being a hunt and instead turn into a territory war Senritsu had no interest in participating. Any other day, she wouldn't have minded sharing the wealth and the credit with others, but with Hisoka possibly going off on his own and Kurapika too dazed and confused to be of much help, Senritsu decided this development about the mysterious plant would remain with her.

She found that most of her network wasn't of much help. The botanist she'd once partnered with told her that the darkest flowers in the world were usually a deep purple masquerading as the color black. Senritsu wondered if it could have been a hollyhock, but what about the red pistil? And the ability to breath? Two of her contacts told her that flowers weren't sentient, but they did shift and rustle according to their environment and temperature, so maybe her flowers were simply reacting to an invasion?

Was that what it was doing – getting ready to attack her and Kurapika for invading its space?

But it didn't make sense. The flowers grew on a vine that had curled tightly around ferns that were clustered along a well beaten path. People walked those paths everyday, and unless those vines had grown that very day, there was no way it hadn't already been there when other members of the company went up and down the trail. No – the vines and their flowers had been their before she and Kurapika had arrived. They'd been there, and in one dark corner of Senritsu's mind, it felt like they were waiting for her arrival.

It was just after lunch when she heard her first and only clue.

“Sounds like that grim fairy tale, Sen-chan,” Moogoo the vegan chef drawled on the other side of the line.

Senritsu blinked, taking a seat on her bed. “Grim fairy tale?”

“You know, like those stories Don Freecss wrote about the plant-man? He was cuckoo crazy, but damn if those things didn't scare the shit outta you after lights out.” Moogoo chuckled from her quaint little cafe in Saherta, unbeknownst to the dread building in Senritsu's chest. When Senritsu didn't answer, the older woman scoffed. “Come on, honey, those stories are a staple of childhood innocence. Didn't your mother ever bother reading you some?”

“N-no,” Senritsu wheezed, unable to admit that her mother had left her in an orphanage after she was born, and that no, no one read her grim fairy tales written by a man named Don Freecss.

“Well, that book _skyrocketed_ in sales after the Black Whale got iced,” Moogoo continued. “Check it out when you have time. It's a pretty creepy read after what happened with that damn boat. It's called 'Journey to the New World – East Edition,' and it's basically a shit ton of nightmare fuel. As for those edible flowers you got in your backyard – don't put 'em in your mouth until you know its exact taxonomy. You said they were purple right? Purple ain't a good color, honey. Flowers are like mushrooms – if you pop the pretty one in your mouth, you're as good as dead.”

Senritsu laughed drily. “Thanks, Moo-san. I'll be careful; I promise.”

“You better,” huffed the older woman. “Hell – if they end up being good, bring me some. I wouldn't mind drying some into tea leaves.”

“I will,” Senritsu lied.

They said their goodbyes, and Senritsu realized that she only had mere hours before she had to trek out to stalk the very girl she'd come to rescue.

And before that, she had to read some fairy tales – fairy tales written by a Don Freecss.

* * *

It was the sweet feeling of lust that drove Hisoka deeper into the caverns of the mountain. From atria and stages, to empty ballrooms and room with no light, the higher he went, the deeper the darkness. The more he walked, the more he gathered that no one was supposed to enter past the fourth level, because no human with eyes could _see_ past the fourth level. His desire to find the truth became something akin to mania, lapping at his nerves to do something, _anything_ to find the one who'd made him whole again.

And so he'd made it to the fourth level, then to the fifth, then the sixth, and finally to the seventh and what seemed to be the last level of the unearthly pyramid within the mountain. Lust and thrill thrummed through his hands and fingers when he finally opened the door to an empty room with nothing but dirt on the floor.

There was no light, not counting the lighter in Hisoka's hand. Hisoka peered around the seemingly empty room, taking in the fair coating of soil that was at least a foot deep. The sharp smell of manure made Hisoka gag, but he kept the bile down in his chest as he carefully made his way around the cube-like room, anxiety snapping at his heels.

Nobody in the studio seemed to remember him passing out after eating the flower cakes, so throughout rehearsal, Hisoka had wondered how the dancers managed to plan so well in advance that Hisoka, disguise master extraordinaire, had no clue that he'd been led into a trap. He'd tried talking to his newbie compatriots, but neither of them remembered even showing up to the mountain the day before, so he knew that they remembered nothing of the black flowers fried in pancake batter.

It was only when Hisoka felt something push him roughly onto his stomach that he finally snapped to attention. His nen transformed instantly, and bounced him back into the figure behind him. He crashed into a rock-hard chest that barely budged. His lighter gone, Hisoka focused on the glowing properties of his Bungee Gum to loop a sticky garotte around the figure's throat, but before he could finish the technique, the creature slapped away his hand and roughly turned him around.

Hisoka didn't need his eyes to know that the man in front of him was seven feet tall and counting. He also knew that the man would crush his windpipe before Hisoka could fish out his lighter and get a good look at his face.

He'd thought Seema had lied to him. The man was no where to be found during rehearsal, and so he'd assumed that _she'd_ assumed that he'd forgotten all about the greeting.

But here he was, the Boss Man, waiting for Hisoka.

Hisoka licked his lips and put his hands on the creatures abs. A little higher, and he'd be able to reach its chest. He felt warmth radiate from the man's skin in the pitch black darkness. Hisoka sighed lustily, desire blooming in his loins. If only he could _see_.

Large hands looped around his waist and pulled him closer. Hisoka melted into the embrace, blindly groping at whatever he could. Shortly after, he was pushed onto his back against the dirt and stripped of his clothes before a powerful force climbed on top of him. He longed to kiss its face, however much ugly it was, and gaze into the eyes of the man who'd prepared him the flower cakes, giving him his life back.

But there was no light, so Hisoka did the next best thing. He relaxed against the dirt, let his hands gently caress a pair of strong thighs, and succumbed to his lust.

* * *

“He told me you would be coming,” the woman called Seema said with a slight flush. “Not your man, by the way. I'm not sure about your man, but ours likes you a lot. He thinks you're worthy, you and your friends.”

She handed Senritsu a bouquet of wildflowers choked with green vines and a lone, black flower. The red pistil hummed, as if sniffing the air. Senritsu took the bouquet and held it against her chest.

“When you're ready, just pluck off a petal and eat it,” Seema instructed. “You can leave the rest of the flowers wherever you like. They can take care of themselves.”

Senritsu peered down at the bouquet for a full minute before raising her head to look at the woman again. “You're not dying anymore.”

She beamed at Senritsu, doing a little twirl in her simple cotton dress. “Fit as a fiddle!”

“Then why do you smell like death,” she snapped back, frustrated that nothing made sense.

Seema's smile slipped into a deep frown. She peered intently into Senritsu's dark eyes. “You can't be reborn if you don't shed yourself of your past life first,” the taller woman whispered softly.

Senritsu narrowed her eyes. “I checked your health records. Right before you disappeared, your doctors confirmed that your cancer came back. You had less than two months to live. How are you still alive?”

Seema gave her a cold glare. “Ask your man how I'm still alive. Not the clown, the other one – the one with the Scarlet Eyes.”

And with that, Seema walked away.

* * *

Kurapika dreamed a strange dream, one where he followed the company of dancers through a dense thicket of trees until Kurapika stood in a clearing with only the Botanical Weapon. He was cold. He was so, so cold.

The creature didn't look like a weapon. It could hardly be considered anything stranger than the average Hunter. Tall and muscular, it was simply a bigger version of some of the more physically fit Hunters Kurapika had come across in his life. It was shorter than the Spider named Uvogin, but wider in width. Its legs were long and smooth, its feet bare and big. Unlike the descriptions that had been passed to him from Mizaistom and Hanzou, there was no gaping hole in the middle of the Calamity Head's torso. There was no blood, barely any sweat, and had it not been for the fact that a large, faceless orb sat where the head should have been, Kurapika would have thought the dancer was fairly handsome and mundane.

But it wasn't a man, and it wasn't mundane – it was a creature from the Dark Continent that had somehow made it into the waters of Lake Mobius.

It began walking towards him, and Kurapika found that he couldn't move. He wanted to – he so desperately wanted to run away, but his feet stayed where they were, and Kurapika prayed that this nightmare would end soon so that he could wake up and go find Senritsu, tell her that he was sorry, that he'd been a horrible friend and even worse person, and that he wanted to _live_. Despite everything, Kurapika wanted to live.

The creature stopped walking when it was four feet away from where Kurapika stood. It raised one hand and released a gentle hum of energy. It was and wasn't nen. It moved like nen, but didn't _feel_ like nen. If nen was clear, filtered water, then this was seawater. There was no refining this energy into different techniques. It was entropic in nature, and it was _strong_ , and it didn't come from within like aura did.

Kurapika's eyes widened and he realized that the Calamity Head seemed to be transforming the energy _around_ him, as if the aura it was tapping into wasn't its own, but the aura of the world itself. Kurapika shivered, and he wracked his brain, trying to think of reasons why something classified as a monster would have such impeccable control.

Green leaves and a glowing, blue bulb sprouted from its fingers. The bulb and leaves grew steadily in size as a pile of seeds began to slide out from the grooves of the Brion's palm and fell to the clearing below. Once it finished dropping the seeds, the Brion reached out and proffered the pulsing blue orb to Kurapika.

And like in most dreams, Kurapika had no say in what his body wanted. His hands took the leafy bundle with the blue bulb, and held it close to his chest. He had no idea what the creature wanted from him, why it gave him a blue bulb sprung from its own fingers, but he held it close to his breast as if it were a child.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and Kurapika woke up.

Kurapika woke to a ceiling fan gently blowing cold air down on his shivering figure. It took him some time to piece together that it wasn't just an ordinary ceiling fan, but the ceiling fan in his rented cottage – the cottage he didn't remember walking back to.

He pulled himself up and felt around his body. His shoes were still on his feet, but they were caked in mud and as damp as his clothes. He felt around his chest and legs and realized that his clothes were as he'd first worn them – undershirt first, pants second, kurta next, and finally a brown parka. His wallet was still in his right pocket, his phone in his left, while his gun was still strapped to the belt holding his trousers up. He jostled the sleeve of his kurta and felt the chains slip into his hand. He felt for his ruby earrings and found them still clasped in his ears.

He looked around his room and found that everything was still the same. The clock was half past nine and it was dark outside, so Kurapika knew that he'd slept through the day.

He'd seen Brion the Calamity Head, and he'd lived to tell the tale. He'd dreamt that he'd accepted a monster's gift, but dreams were just that – unreliable and unreal.

When it dawned on him that he'd slept through the day, Kurapika cursed and jolted out of bed. Senritsu and Hisoka had spent their day without him by their side, likely searching for answers on their own as he'd dozed the day away thinking about a creature that could reproduce with its hands.

As he ran towards the small bathroom, Kurapika tripped and fell to his knees. Cursing to himself as he picked himself off the floor, he looked back to see what he'd fallen over. He found a mound of dirt budding with wildflowers on the floor, a single blue orb pulsating in the middle.

Kurapika felt bile rise in his throat and realized that he _hadn't_ dreamed, that he'd gotten exactly what he'd deserved after a night of heavy drinking – dreamless, endless sleep. And before he took to his bed, he'd met with the Calamity Head, and he'd accepted its gift, a pulsating bulb now wrapped in green vines, leaves, wildflowers, packed into a mound of dirt. A memory – it had been real.

Kurapika looked at his hands and found them slightly rusty, but otherwise clean, but no amount of washing could erase the dirt beneath his fingers, dirt he likely accumulated packing dirt and wildflowers around the bulb and its leaves. Kurapika stared for several minutes until he heard the tell-tale stroke of his clock, and realized that if he didn't move now, he'd lose one of the few friends he had left in this world.

He shoved the bulb and dirt into a burlap sack, washed his hands and face, and ran out of the cottage as if the Devil himself was snapping at his heels.

And he ran – he kept running until he reached the inn where Hisoka was loitering in front of, the leotard gone and replaced with his actual clothes, the jester's uniform.

“Chain-user!” The older man called jovially. “Finally! I was beginning to think the sex had killed you,” he laughed out loud.

Kurapika looked at him as if he were insane. “Where's Senritsu?” He snapped, pointedly ignoring the lewd remarks.

Hisoka first pouted, then shrugged. “Music Hunter's up at the quarry. Hurry now, before she decides to dump us both.”

The clown turned his back to Kurapika and began making his way down the road to the quarry. Kurapika followed at a safe distance.

He couldn't help but notice the black boutonnière pinned to the clown's lapel.

* * *

When the trio finally gathered some yards from the edge of the rock quarry, Kurapika realized just how cold he still was. Even though a low fire was burning in a pit and summer almost here, Kurapika still couldn't feel a single ounce of warmth soothe his nerves. He shivered and pulled his parka closer around his body. He could feel the beginnings of a fever come about, but he kept his focus on the short woman standing steps from the quarry cliff, her gaze towards the mountain that was hidden underneath the cover of night.

“Senritsu?” Kurapika called carefully.

Senritsu abruptly turned around to face Kurapika, and he saw just how old and haggard she really was. He wondered if he was just as bad, wondered if the years and the pain had finally caught up to him. He was only twenty-three, but he felt like he was sixty-five, done with this existence and ready for the next one. He imagined she felt the same, having survived the Dark Sonata, Chrollo Lucilfer, and the Black Whale in the same lifetime.

“Where have you been?” She asked flatly.

He outwardly flinched, unable to hide the shame creeping into his face. “I-”

“Never mind that,” Hisoka interrupted caustically. “Where's your flower?”

Kurapika turned to the clown fingering the black petals of his boutonnière. “What flower?”

Hisoka rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Chain-user?” Kurapika's fingers unconciously twitched around the burlap sack hanging in his hand, and Hisoka hummed. “I see – you're the bagman now.” Hisoka shrugged and stretched his arms. “Whatever, let's get this over with. Music Hunter?”

“Hisoka and I both received flowers,” Senritsu informed him. “I got mine from my target; he...” Senritsu coughed lightly into her fist before glaring at Kurapika again. “He had sex with the monster and it gave him the corsage.”

“ _Boutonnière_ ,” corrected the redhead with a whine. “ We made _love_ , then it fed me flowers, and _then_ it gave me the boutonnière.” Hisoka stomped and frowned. “He's a giving lover, Music Hunter, that's a good thing!”

“I- I have a bulb,” Kurapika stumbled over his words. “I don't have... I don't have any black flowers.”

“Seema told me me to ask you about how she's still alive,” Senritsu said softly. She made her way to where he was standing and stretched out her hand. Kurapika didn't question it, just quietly handed over the burlap bag. She shuffled through the bag until she produced the pulsing blue orb.

“Wait, he has to _grow_ his flowers?” Hisoka squawked. Before Kurapika knew it, the clown was cackling. “Amazing!”

“Where did you get this?” Senritsu asked him carefully.

Kurapika thought back to what hadn't been a dream, but instead a memory. That forest – it hadn't been the one across the river.

“... There was another show last night. I followed the dancers outside the village after it ended, and met the monster inside the forest leading away from the quarry. Brion... it birthed that bulb from its fingers and then it gave it to me.”

“You could have kissed its cheek as a thank you,” Hisoka pouted.

“It didn't _have_ cheeks,” Kurapika snapped back.

“You saw its face?” Senritsu asked incredulously.

“The clown slept with it, why don't you ask him?” He cut back, suddenly feeling as if he were being cornered.

Senritsu flinched at his tone and looked away. Kurapika felt guilty all over again.

“I didn't see its face,” Hisoka said nonchalantly. “We had sex in the dark.”

“On dirt,” Senritsu sighed, shaking her head.

“Oh, now you're judging?” Hisoka retorted, but even Kurapika could sense the mirth in his words, and the light crinkle around Senritsu's hollow eyes told Kurapika that even she found it funny.

They were companions and lovers for a reason. They could be themselves without restrictions. They were Hunters of the subaltern, living their lives away from everyday society. Why _wouldn't_ they laugh at something so unreal?

“It has to be the flower the Sahertan forces were after,” Senritsu ended up saying. “I think Brion is a species – not a single creature. One of them was guarding a labyrinth when it killed the Sahertan soldiers. I doubt it left its base to come here and _dance_. It could be that a weaker Brion ended up washing ashore by accident.”

“Pariston Hill's dossiers say that, that's how the Chimera Ant Queen got into Lake Mobius,” Hisoka added. “She washed up somewhere in the Mitene Union, probably the same way our lovely dancer did.”

“I think...” Kurapika pursed his lips and thought back to the energy the Brion had harnessed. He thought about how it had decided to _dance_ instead of slaughtering every human being it came across. He thought about the fact that it had mated with a person, found a way to ingratiate itself into the very fabric of society. “I... I don't think it got here by accident,” Kurapika said hoarsely.

Senritsu and Hisoka both froze. It was Hisoka who spoke next. “What do you mean?”

“If it washed up by accident, then why aren't we dead? Why is it entertaining people... _saving_ people?”

Senritsu looked taken aback. “Everyone who eats one of those flowers reeks of death. The flowers _themselves_ reek of death.”

“Yes, but what if that's the point?” Kurapika retorted harshly. “If it wanted us dead, then we'd all be dead. Instead, your target's alive, it... _mated_ with Hisoka, and it gave me one of its children to raise. It's not trying to kill us, Senritsu. It's trying to _live_ amongst us. I don't know why, but it's giving us...”

Kurapika's eyes glazed over and he remembered that back home, beneath the great tree, eyes and a lone head rotted in the soil. The eyes of his tribe and the head of his cousin had become one with the earth, with the great tree that once gave them shelter.

“It's giving us everything we want,” Kurapika whispered. “It's giving me something to look after – and it gave you your target in one piece,” he told Senritsu.

Hisoka didn't deny Kurapika's assertion. “Well, I do have my body back and have never felt better. A win-win for every-”

“If you eat the flower, you'll get your body back,” Kurapika interrupted Hisoka, staring intently at Senritsu's still figure. “If you eat it, you can change back.”

“That's what _I_ told her,” Hisoka whined. “See, Music Hunter? Chain-user isn't as stupid as we thought. He still has some screws left, even if they are loose!”

“I can't,” she whispered.

“Why not?” Kurapika practically wailed. “You were looking for a way to get your body back, weren't you? You have a chance now! You can defeat the demon at your full strength!”

“And how do you know I'm not at my full strength?” She snarled at him, her buckteeth more prominent than ever before. When she realized she'd screamed at him, she took a deep breath and walked away from him and towards Hisoka.

“Don't assume you know what it is that I want, Kurapika,” she said in a steely tone, her eyes turned away from him. “You know nothing about me.”

And he didn't – in all the years that they'd been acquainted with each other, Kurapika could admit that he barely knew a single person he'd come across. He merely categorized people as he came across them, either as Spiders, acquaintances he could leverage, and once in a while, a foe worth fighting, but besides that, what did Kurapika know? What did he know about their world, besides the fact that it brought him nothing but pain? That it stirred nothing in his soul but hatred? That he was alone now, just like he was before?

“You're right,” he told her, “I don't know you at all... but I care about you.”

Senritsu didn't say anything back. The fire died in the pit, and darkness fully descended. He could barely make an outline of Hisoka's tall figure and Senritsu's shorter one.

“Well, I'm off to spread the wealth,” Hisoka said after some time. “Music Hunter, you should join me.”

“I have to inform Seema's parents that she's alive,” Senritsu began, but Hisoka cut her off with a snort.

“I don't think you have to worry about the woman. I have a feeling she's planning to pay a visit herself. Why not simply send a letter to the parents letting them know to expect her before she gives them heart attacks by accident?”

“And you don't think a letter will frighten them?” Senritsu chastised the clown. “... but you're right. I shouldn't be the one explaining this to them. I'll send them a letter telling them she's fine and that she'll visit soon. Then I'll...”

Senritsu didn't finish her sentence. Instead, Kurapika watched her figure come towards him and drop the burlap sack at his feet. “I'll be going now, Kurapika.”

“You can come with us, Chain-user.” Hisoka chirped. “You can get to know Music Hunter better, and me too! We can be the traveling salesmen of the Brion, masters of the black flower.”

Kurapika ignored him and looked at Senritsu's figure instead. He couldn't make out her expressions, not with the darkness enveloping them, but he would made an effort – for once in his life, he'd make an effort to be a good friend, a _person_ , instead of a creature driven by rage.

“Do you want me to?” He asked her softly. “Can I... come with you?”

Senritsu was silent for several seconds until he heard sigh deeply. “Yes,” she told him.

Before Kurapika could respond, Hisoka appeared next to him and threw one arm over his shoulder, and another over Senritsu's.

“Now we _have_ to pick a name for the group,” Hisoka began, “should we go with Freakshow? Esteemed Ballet Hunters? Humpty, Dumpty, and the Bagman? I have so many ideas!”

Hisoka prattled on as they made their way back into the village in the darkness of the night. Somehow, they all managed to make it back to Hisoka's room without losing each other, and even more strangely so, they ended up piling into the redhead's bed, Kurapika squished between Hisoka who snored deeply, and Senritsu who slept soundlessly.

Kurapika stared at the ceiling, knowing full well why he'd left the burlap sack and the pulsating blue orb at the quarry instead of carrying it back with him. The Calamity Head thought it knew him, and maybe, deep down, it did. Maybe it knew that Kurapika longed to be whole in a different way, not driven by lust or by ambition, but by rage. His rage was all-encompassing, so potent that even his own nen broke the limitations of his techniques and kept him alive by sucking the strength out of his enemies. Maybe the Brion had known that when it handed him the bulb. Maybe it'd known that Kurapika would never have taken it and raised the black flowers for his own selfishness, because Kurapika no longer had a _reason_ to be selfish.

In a way, the bulb had freed him. Its presence had given him something he didn't think he'd ever get back. Maybe a villager would find the sack tomorrow and decide to toss it and the plant, or maybe they'd take it home and look after the plant themselves. Who knew? Kurapika certainly didn't.

But it didn't matter, not anymore. Kurapika found himself drifting off to sleep, finally warm.

* * *


	7. Epilogue

_Two Years Later_

“I think our time's up, Ging-san,” Pariston said wistfully, looking towards the horizon.

Ging took a long drag of his joint before passing it to the blonde. Pariston graciously accepted the hand-rolled cigarette and took a few short puffs before handing it back. He blew smoke rings into the air and watched as they drifted away into nothingness.

“We told them,” Ging mumbled around the cigarette. He blew out a plume of smoke and stared at the same horizon Pariston had his eyes fixed on. “World's coming to an end, and no one cares.”

“Why would they, when there's people to subjugate and money to be made?” Pariston pouted and swatted a fly off his shoulder. “If only they'd listened,” he sighed.

Ging looped his free arm around Pariston's waist and pinched his thigh. “Quit dwelling, it won't change shit.”

Pariston scoffed and elbowed Ging in the stomach. The shorter of the two grunted and pinched the blonde again, and so the blonde retaliated by plucking the cigarette out of the shorter man's hand and tossing it into the sea.

“Oi, you stupid fuck,” Ging grumbled, “that was my last cigarette.”

“I believe so, yes,” Pariston hummed.

After a few more grumbles, some choice cuss words, and Pariston's gold watch tossed into the sea to join Ging's deceased cigarette, the men kissed deeply while the sun dipped in the horizon.

Ging wrapped his short legs around Pariston's waist and pulled him closer. Pariston took the opportunity to lay kisses down Ging's jaw while the shorter man massaged Pariston's scalp. Ging grumbled contently, because Ging Freecss was the type of man who could be grouchy and lustful at the same time.

Pariston settled his ear against Ging's chest and sighed. “I'm glad it's with you.”

Ging continued threading his fingers through Pariston's hair and stared at the purple and pink sky. “So am I,” he admitted.

The sun went to sleep, and so did they.

* * *

“There's been another sighting,” the agent clipped.

Cheadle rewound the video and watched the dragon rise from the sea again. Claws the size of a small ship swiped down on screaming villagers, killing hundreds in a single swoop. When the beach was pretty much annihilated, a scaly appendage slid out of the water and scooped the corpses and debris into the water. Before the video abruptly cut off, the dragon took a sizable bite from a dead man.

“Where?” Cheadle asked hollowly.

“Off the coast of Jappon. Ging Freecss and Pariston Hill arrived before the sighting, but they haven’t conta-”

“Assume they're dead,” Cheadle interrupted. “We can't wait for their signal. Have the Ants and soldiers on standby.”

The agent gave her a short nod and then slid a USB across the table. “The sighting was in an abandoned fishing village this time. The lighthouse cameras caught it.”

Cheadle picked up the drive and plugged it into her laptop. The screen shifted, and she opened the only file in the drive. The video was timestamped two days earlier, late afternoon with the sun still high in the sky. The ripples on the water picked up speed for several minutes before the head of a dragon slowly rose from the depths. As the dragon inched closer to the shore, its visage rippled and morphed like a lenticular print.

And just as it hit the shore, it stopped morphing. Cheadle watched as a naked woman walked onto the beach, and not the massive red dragon that they watched rise from the water. The monster walked inland, bright red hair trailing behind her long, round body. Shortly after, the video cut to black.

“It's not the same one that attacked Greed Island,” Cheadle concluded. “Have the specialists ready. I want them to be able to shoot fire at a moment's notice.”

“Yes ma'am,” he said gruffly.

Cheadle rewound the new video and played it from the start. An otherwise mundane afternoon on the shores of Jappon quickly transformed into something else. Cheadle wondered if this one had participated in taking down the Black Whale, if it had been part of the group that was on its way into Lake Mobius six years ago. Cheadle didn't know for sure, but it wouldn't surprise her. Nothing surprised her these days.

“Ancient kings,” the agent said. “That's what the papers are telling Swardani citizens – a new world led by ancient kings.”

Cheadle took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes. She blearily looked at the reports strewn on her desk. One of the papers had a short summary on the invasion of the unnamed continent by the Brion. The species had conquered all of Mimbo and Padokea in a few short years. The all-curing plant had somehow found its way to Ochima, Saherta, and the Begerosse Union as well, leaving each of their governments with civil unrest.

“There will be a new world,” Cheadle said softly, “but it won't be for us.” She looked up at the agent whose eyes were hidden beneath black shades. “We won't be alive to see it.”

The agent didn't say anything. Outside the Hunter Association headquarters, a siren blared.

* * *

They spent Senritsu's twenty-ninth birthday in her hometown off the coast of the Begerosse Union. First they visited her old orphanage, then they paid a visit to her favorite pub for dinner and good wine, and then they spent the evening camping out in a cave near the ocean.

Since it was Senritsu's birthday, she got the middle. The two taller males found themselves flanking her sides on the makeshift bed. Hisoka whined about definitely being in the middle next time because it was in his nature to behave in unseemly ways, and Senritsu couldn't help but laugh airily while Kurapika hummed into her neck.

In the middle of the night, Kurapika's eyes snapped open, as red as blood. He quietly untangled himself from Senritsu and Hisoka's arms and got to his feet. He walked out of the cave and onto the empty beach. The sky was cloudless, so the moonlight shone quaintly over the relatively quiet sea. He closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids. When he opened them again, the eerily sharp focus of the Scarlet Eyes was still active, so he huffed and began walking on the beach.

He rarely used the Scarlet Eyes. It wasn't as if he was ashamed of anything. It was simply that the facade was easier to maintain. Maybe he should have shed himself of his niceties years ago, but he hadn't. Perhaps he was still afraid someone would come out at night and pluck his eyes out of his head while he slept. Or maybe he _was_ ashamed, and didn't want the world to judge the last son of the Kurta clan.

“Blondie,” Hisoka called lazily. Kurapika turned around to a slouching Hisoka and a groggy Senritsu.

“What are you doing up, Kurapika?” Senritsu yawned. She scratched her tummy and gave him a confused look. “Why are your eyes red?”

“I woke up like this,” he admitted. “I... I didn't turn them on willingly.”

Senritsu eyed him for a few seconds before responding. “It's OK if you don't want to be around people,” she told him. “We can skirt around the towns – take the more scenic routes.”

Hisoka grabbed his wrist and began pulling him along. “Red is a good color on you,” Hisoka explained. “It makes you look like you're about to commit murder, and quite frankly, that's hot.”

“Red brings out your cheekbones,” Senritsu hummed contently, grasping Kurapika's other hand. “And it makes you the prettiest man in the whole wide world.”

“ _I'm_ the hottest,” Hisoka clarified, “but you're the prettiest. Senritsu is the prettiest woman in the whole wide world.”

“All four feet, two inches,” Senritsu chuckled.

“And the lovely pate,” Kurapika added. He found himself clumsily kissing Senritsu's bald pate as Hisoka pulled them along. Senritsu giggled, and before long, they found themselves piled on the makeshift bed again.

Kurapika hovered over Senritsu's smiling figure while Hisoka kissed up the length of his spine. Senritsu frowned when teardrops landed on her chest. She lifted a hand and quietly caressed his cheek.

“I'm happy,” he whispered softly. Senritsu smiled again in response, while Hisoka embraced him from behind and hummed into his neck.

And all three of them fell in love all over again.

* * *

“Get off that rock and come help with the food!” Yelled an elderly man.

“In a minute,” the teenager called down below.

“Now! Before I send your uncle!”

The teenager bit his cheek and huffed. “Fine,” he grumbled and made his way down from the rock. Once he landed on the earth below, the elderly man handed him a basket of corn and told him to start marching. The teen walked sullenly over the sand onto the beaten path that led back to their home.

A strong, steady hand landed on the teen's shoulder. “Give it time. He'll come back, eventually.”

“You heard what they said – he doesn't know what he is. How's he supposed to come back if he doesn't know what he is?”

The old man responded with a hearty bout of laughter. The teen pouted at the older man and kept marching. “What's so funny...” He murmured beneath his breath.

The old man ruffled his hair and smiled brightly. “It doesn't matter if he doesn't know what he is. As long as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, he'll always be one of us – a protector of health and a harbinger of good grace.”

The teen rolled his eyes and kept huffing. “Whatever, jiji.”

The pair made their way back home under the early afternoon sky. When they reached the stone arch leading into their town, little children rushed over to greet them. They followed the two as they made their way over to the cookhouse.

“It's not home, but it's something,” the teen heard one of the men stirring the beef stew lament.

“We can't build a labyrinth with less than five hundred hands,” grumbled one of the men slicing fruit for a salad.

“Can't we just ask one of the Heads?” The beef stew man whined.

“No, we cannot,” grumbled the fruit man, “they're family, not machines.”

“But a labyrinth would be so much _easier_ to maintain,” the beef stew man continued.

“You can barely maintain your husband's appetite, Kero,” the old man interrupted.

That set off a string of laughter as the beef stew man named Kero continued to stir his pot while huffing and puffing about the inconveniences related to continuing their existence in a forest instead of a beautiful city made of stone and marble.

The teen placed his basket of corn in front of one of the men chopping lettuce, and then took a seat on a clay stool. He began humming an old tune while the men continued chattering and cooking the evening meal. It was a song recounting their traditions, a tune that passed from parent to child since as far as the teen could remember.

He wished he could sing it with his cousin again.

* * *

“Do you hear that?” Kurapika asked gravely as they stopped abruptly in the reeds.

Hisoka crinkled his nose but Senritsu folded her ears and listened intently. “Yes,” she confirmed. “... it's similar to that tune you hum sometimes.”

Kurapika's eyes were bugging out of his face. His mouth ran dry and he felt faint. “I'm not imagining things.”

Senritsu shook her head. “You're not.”

“What's so special about some song?” Hisoka yawned. “We've been walking for hours. Where's that damn tree you've been talking about, anyway?”

Kurapika gulped and pointed at a large tree wreathed in red and white lights. It looked like a beacon in the cold dusk of late fall.

“Huh,” Hisoka intoned. “Someone probably took over the forest after the Brion appeared.”

“It looks... alive,” Senritsu whispered. “Like it'll start moving its branches at any moment now.”

“They're singing,” Hisoka concluded, able to hear the sounds now that they'd grown louder.

“They're singing songs of my tribe,” Kurapika choked out the words. “They're-”

“Kura?”

The trio simultaneously turned their heads to the new voice. A lanky teen, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, stood some yards away. He had dark brown hair and smooth white skin. He wore a simple cotton tunic with matching trousers, while a pair of sapphire earrings glinted in his ears.

And yet, their shine was nothing compared to the bloody red hue of his Scarlet Eyes.

“Pairo?” Kurapika whispered helplessly.

The teen sprinted from his place and into Kurapika's arms. Senritsu and Hisoka watched with their mouths agape as the two figures embraced and cried.

“You came back!” They heard the teen sob, “thank the gods, you finally came back!”

As the sun dipped, a new world began.

* * *

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted to write about my crack theory that the Kurta Clan were descendants of the Dark Continent that accidentally ended up in Lake Mobius. With the Brion lore, I wondered, why not make the Kurta Clan the descendants of the labyrinthine city Brion was protecting? I admit, I had a lot of fun writing this last chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and see y'all next Big Bang! (~˘▾˘)~


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